A Brave New World
by DaniDM
Summary: Part 5 of the series - The story between Henry and Julia continues. It's spring. The Rez is a busy place. Work. Family. Friends. Enemies. Someone has to keep watch.
1. Chapter 1 In the Dark of Night, In the L

**A/N - Well... since the networks aren't moving along with the series... yet, I'm going to continue along. Enjoy.**

 **Dani**

 **1 – In the Dark of Night, In the Light of Day**

3am.

Darkness dominated. Silently, we slipped out the back. A single, low watt bulb over the screen door would be our only beacon. It was cold. Frosty breath puffed as we paused letting our senses absorb the moment. But, we grinned. It had been too long and the anticipation tingled our skin. We took a step down onto the dusty field, a light fog oozing from the arid ground. Patches. Like steam from a field of miniature geysers. Swirling. Obscuring potential obstacles in our path. It was a risk, but one we had to take. We veritably itched with need. Starting slow, we allowed our eyes to adjust to the inky black that was penetrated by the million stars glistening above.

Then… we ran.

He led.

I followed.

Mist parted at our feet. Cold dampness quickly chilled the rapidly rising sweat.

We bolted across the flat expanse, senses humming. Trusting instinct. Barely seeing our feet driving us forward then pushing us up a low embankment three hundred yards later. He nimbly took the hill: long, strong legs pumping hard. I slipped on the gravel, gritted my teeth, but did not lose stride. He glanced over his shoulder, slowing but not stopping. Patient. Silent encouragement. I pushed to keep up. It felt good. Twenty minutes later, at the crossroads, he bounced on the spot, waiting as I puffed to join him. He smiled in mischief, jogging circles around me.

"Come on, Slowpoke," he whispered menacingly. "We're not done yet."

He took off back down the embankment, into the abyss. A shadow rapidly disappearing merely ten feet ahead. I eased down after him determined not to fall or give up. Racing. My lungs on fire. My heart pounding in my ears. I'd lost feeling in my legs. They moved mechanically. I pressed on with resolve.

Then, he abruptly stopped, left fist at shoulder height, carefully dropping to his knees, knuckles to the earth for balance. I followed suit, creeping beside him. He pointed. 2 o'clock. I looked right and smiled. A mother coyote, two fluffy pups bouncing and nipping at her feet as she cautiously sniffed the air. She sensed us, but the breeze was in our favor, and she noiselessly moved on.

He tipped his head sideways, silently giving new direction, heading back toward the beacon. I followed. Circling the outer structure, we quietly worked our way back onto the deck. A water bottle waited on a low, wooden table in the dim light and he guzzled half of it down, handing me the rest. I gratefully drank. Forty-five minutes. Not bad.

"You two are freaking nuts," Kelly grumbled sleepily from the doorway, tightly wrapped in a thick, white and blue quilt, her blond locks sleep-tossed. She rubbed her eyes and yawned turning back into the house. "Coffee is on," she called over her shoulder as the screen door creaked closed.

We grinned at each other and made our way into the brightly lit kitchen, wincing, shielding our eyes. Henry was leaning barefoot against the black granite countertop, hands gripped around his first hit of caffeine of the day, dark grey jeans riding low on his hips, black t-shirt rumpled, finger-combed hair. He'd probably only had a couple of hours sleep.

Tom wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his ancient, green Army sweatshirt and strode to the machine, pouring himself a mug then mimicked Henry's stance.

"I agree with Kelly." Henry quirked a tired, dark brow at us. "You two are crazy. How far did you go?"

I look at the band on my wrist. "About three miles."

"Three miles, she says," Kelly groaned from her seat at the small kitchen table, sleepy head resting in a delicate hand. "At three in the freaking morning." She desperately took another dose of hot coffee. "How long do we have?"

Tom pushed himself away from the counter and strode to his girlfriend, kneeling beside her. "Time enough to share a shower?" he grinned roguishly toying with a loose blonde curl.

Kelly looked over at her boss. This was his place. She didn't feel right about it. Wrinkling her nose at Tom's pungent scent, and playfully pushing him away, she smirked. "Go ahead without me. There's four of us needing to get ready. Make it fast."

Tom chuckled. "Military, darlin'. Two minute showers. And with no one to play with…" he rose with a wink, "maybe less."

By 4:30, chaos in the single-level ranch house was at its peak. We let Kelly use the bathroom last knowing she would take the longest. Tom emerged from the bedroom he and Kelly had shared, the one I had stayed in when I first moved in with Henry, and we ran into each other in the hall. He was in his Class Bs; navy trousers and jacket with the adornments, pressed white shirt, tie, hat, looking as dapper as ever. My heart fluttered. _Sigh. A man in uniform_. He and Kelly had spent the night knowing it would be an early day.

I was dressed and ready. The cream-coloured chiffon dress with large, pastel blue flowers seductively dusted around the ankles. The silver eagle feather necklace rested over the scar on the center of my chest, matching earrings accentuating the nape of my neck. My short, tawny hair was slicked back. I wore a fine woolen jacket the colour of a clear summer sky over sleeveless shoulders. Hey, it was early morning in Wyoming. It didn't matter that it was mid-May. It was still darn cold.

Tom eyed me approvingly and stroked a single finger along my jawline. "Gorgeous," he breathed. "You ready?" he asked raising his elbow for me to take.

"Why, Lieutenant Colonel, such a gentleman." I smiled coyly hooking my hand into the crook. "Find your own date, Kelly," I teased over my shoulder as my friend hopped out of the bathroom struggling with a reluctant stiletto. "He's mine."

Stunning as always in a pale green dress reminiscent of those from the 50s: fitted bodice, flared skirt, golden tresses pinned to the top of her head in ringlets, Kelly laughed. "Hey! You have your own. Where is Henry anyway?"

"He's outside already."

"Ferg is a genius." Kelly beamed. "I can't believe he set all this up yesterday. Are you ready?"

I grinned excitedly. "Oh, ya. We have a wedding to get to."

The fog was burning off and the transition from night to day was beginning. Stars melted into the indigo west as the orange hues of early morning began to peak over the eastern horizon. It would be a beautiful day.

As we approached the driveway, my cell phone rang, and I grabbed it from my clutch.

Smiling at the caller ID, I answered. " _Gsubuhi njema, rafiki yangu."_

"It may be morning for you, my friend, but it is afternoon here," Brook's mellow cadence warmed my ear. "Are you ready?"

I looked over at Henry adjusting a machine on the front porch. He wore a camel-coloured sport jacket over black dress pants, a black string tie with silver shield over a white shirt. As fancy as the man could get and I wouldn't have it any other way.

"I think so. How much time do we have?"

There was a pause and I could hear him acknowledge people as they passed. "Fifteen minutes, I think. Maybe twenty."

"Okay. Give the phone to Chris and we'll talk later. I love you." There were voices on the other end and Captain Chris Bennett cheerily came on the line.

"Darling," he oozed charm, his mixed accent of fading London and lilting Nairobi brought tears to my eyes. God, I missed these guys.

We chatted for a few moments until Henry gave a call, waving his hand in signal. "Okay," I said to Chris. "Pay attention. We're live in five." I hung up and moved to the front yard.

"Ready?" Henry asked before hitting the button.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Kelly said in excited awe, clasping her hands onto Tom's arm.

"Ready." I grinned as the Red Pony's 60-inch flat screen fastened on the porch balustrade came to life, Chris' face dominating the monitor beaming with the first _hello_. The four of us stood shoulder to shoulder to greet him.

"It's, what, 5am there?" he asked seeing the sun rise behind us, the new prairie grass still short and dry.

I nodded as the savannah of Tsavo National Park came into view and Chris took us for a walk with his tablet.

Sasha. Toby. Valez. Some of our old team. Staff from the Nairobi headquarters. I recognized Brook's sister and mother. His father had passed away when he was a child. Karel's parents and siblings were milling about.

When Chris approached, we were greeted with enthusiasm. Waves into the camera. Smiles and best wishes all around. They could see the four of us in his smaller screen.

The sun was beaming. Not a cloud in the sky and just a whisper of a breeze. In the distance, a herd of giraffe could be seen wandering the perimeter, curiously watching the crowd.

"I don't know if I'm allowed back here but I'm going to try anyway." Chris good-naturedly approached a white tent the size of a small cottage. "Knock. Knock," he called. "You have visitors."

"Go away. You cannot come in here." A beautiful caramel face appeared through a crack in the flexible doorway. Chris held up the screen as we waved to Karel's older sister. "Oh." Her smile was radiant. "They can come. You cannot." She playfully pushed Chris back with a laugh taking the tablet from him. "Karel. A moment of your time."

When the music began, Chris quickly retrieved the tablet and rushed back to Brook, transferring the feed from the smaller screen to a camera and larger monitor set up on the podium as guests took their places. There must have been at least two hundred people and there was no way we were going to miss this. It was as close as we could get to being there. I stood between my two men: Henry and Tom, our hands linked as Karel emerged from the tent, a glorious ray of beauty. The camera was angled to capture all reactions and Brook's was priceless: completely captivated. I could sense the shortness of his breath as his bride-to-be moved gracefully toward him down the aisle.

My best friend. Getting married.

Tears welled in my eyes, and I could feel Tom tighten his grip, giving a loving squeeze.

As they exchanged their vows, the afternoon sun high over the East African savannah, dawn broke over the Wyoming prairie scattering the darkness and beaming light and hope into a beautiful new day.


	2. Chapter 2 Between Men

**2- Between Men**

The steady beat of hammer on wood drummed across the back of Henry's skull. He'd only had two and half hours sleep before noticing Julia slipping out of bed in the pre-dawn. She had been quiet, but the sudden loss of warmth had stirred his subconscious, and he lost the battle trying to recapture the dream. Now, he and Tom worked to affix the flat screen television back onto the wall by the stage while Julia helped Carl prepare for the lunch crowd, taking Kelly's place for a few hours while the manager went home to catch a few more z's.

"Quite the ceremony this morning," Tom made small-talk expertly balancing the heavy set on his broad shoulder while Henry screwed the bolts back into the brackets.

"Indeed," Henry replied over the banging. "It was beautiful. Julia misses Kenya and was pleased to have you here to share it."

"She's a special lady. Has a big heart. I couldn't imagine her missing Brook and Karel's wedding. Brilliant idea with the TV."

Henry nodded as he moved to bolt the other side. "Ferg is our resident computer genius. I am glad it could be done. I have to admit I enjoyed seeing Kenya again as well, and seeing the look on Julia's face." He smiled gently at the memory. "I am sure Kelly is happy to have you back, even for a few days. I am surprised that you did not return with her to her house. Join her in a nap," he hinted with a subtle smirk.

"I couldn't let you do this alone." Tom moved out from under the television while Henry re-wired the set. "Besides," he said seriously, "we'll have our time later. I have plans. Now, there's another special lady," he pointed out.

Henry nodded absently stepping back to examine the set's position. Satisfied, he held out his hand to shake Tom's and clapped his new friend on the shoulder.

"Are you going to steal her away from me?" He took a moment, holding on for effect like an overprotective father.

Tom's lips quirked up at the corner breaking the soldier's solemn demeanor, his steel eyes twinkled playfully. "Maybe. That would be up to her."

Henry's lips drew into a tight line, holding back his thoughts. He liked Tom, but would miss Kelly. Over the years, she had not only become a reliable employee, but a good friend. Her relationship with Tom may be intense but the two had only visited each other on occasion since they met last summer. They had spent more time apart than together, and long distance relationships were hard under the best circumstances. He had learned that with Deena. And, then there was Tom's job. It was a one fraught with risk, even though, at the present, he was stationed in Missouri teaching others how to fight. He was still on rotation and there was always a chance that he could be deployed.

Henry shook his head slightly admonishing himself. He was being selfish. Tom was a good man and Kelly… well, if Kelly knew what he was thinking, she would kick his butt from here to Sheridan. She deserved to be happy. Besides, he was jumping to conclusions. Neither had said anything about moving.

"So, when are you and Julia going to tie the knot?" Tom eyed his ex-lover through the kitchen window laughing at something Carl had said.

Henry stepped down from the stage and walked backward toward the bar examining their handiwork. "We have not discussed a date yet. To be honest, whenever the matter comes up, the topic mysteriously seems to change."

Tom smirked in understanding sliding onto a tall stool. "Ya, she's good at that. Diverting attention. Professionally, it's something that made her a good diplomat, but personally, it's an avoidance technique. You start asking her something about… say… houses, and if she doesn't want to discuss it, before you know it, you're talking about, I don't know… elephants." He chuckled. "I remember once in Uganda, she got between my unit and some local hotheads. Stupid thing. I don't remember what it was all about, but we were ready to tear each other apart, then she steps in, and… hell, by the end of it, we're talking about endangered animals and poachers over a beer. Common interest. Diffused the situation." He shrugged. "Just the way she is."

"But, this is our wedding."

Tom nodded. "I know. It's a defense mechanism. She's had some rough times. Might be hard for her to wrap her brain around making things permanent, but don't worry, she's taken some huge steps. Worked her ass off last summer to come back here, so I know she loves you. And, to go up against a guy like Malachi… This place means something to her." He spread his hands to the sides, then leaned onto his elbows pulling a pretzel bowl closer.

They paused for a moment, a comfortable lull between men.

No. The corner of Henry's lip twitched upward as he felt the tension release from his shoulders. Tom was right. He had nothing to worry about. He just had to be patient.

"I am surprised Julia is still here." Henry tipped his head toward the front at Tom's puzzled look. "The banging. She still jumps at loud noises."

Tom nodded. PTSD. It can fade some but it never completely goes away. "The sounds aren't the same. This is construction. Something familiar. She used to build things. Schools. Shelters. But, a car backfiring? She'll jump out of her skin."

Henry nodded. He knew that reaction all too well. He had to admit, though, Julia had come a long way since they had first met. She no longer jumped at every sound and though she still did not like crowds, she was handling them better. He smiled slightly. Dr. Webb from the VA hospital in Cheyenne had explained that it was because she was becoming comfortable with her new environment. She was feeling secure, and that pleased Henry in a way that he did not expect.

"Lunch?" he offered cheerily.

Tom nodded munching on the pretzels.

As Henry turned toward the kitchen, the front doors swung open, and the sound of construction echoed into the empty restaurant. Mathias pushed his way through the saloon doors, pausing, letting them swing dramatically for a moment before slowly sauntering in, thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his blue jeans, straight black hair hanging neatly down his back. He raised a pointed chin to Henry in a curt greeting, then tipped his head to the noise.

"I see you got Frank and Tommy Two Feathers working for you now? Was wondering if you were ever going to fix that overhang."

"I could not renew the full insurance policy without it being repaired and Frank could use the work. It is good to see father and son working together. It is a productive endeavor."

Mathias acknowledged Tom, then leaned his left hand casually against the counter hitching his hip. "I hear Malachi offered Frank a job at the construction site."

"Frank has mentioned it."

"Make you angry?"

"No."

Mathias looked at Tom again considering his next words carefully. He'd heard about this man, the soldier, a friend of Julia's, but they had never met. He lifted his chin to the large, glass, pickle jar on the ledge behind the counter. Hector's jar. Henry had retrieved it from the memorial site where the mercenary had been murdered and brought it where everyone could honor him. It was full of notes and surrounded by mementos of the once sought-after warrior.

"Seems Malachi is leaving you alone. Interesting. And, it seems someone is picking up where Hector left off. Fighting for folks out on the Rez. Otis Foxworth. Gemma Little Night."

Henry placed his hands palms down on the polished wood surface, tipping his head slightly forward. "The Rez is a community. It is our responsibility to look out for each other. It is what makes us strong."

Mathias nodded faintly. "So, you don't know anything about what's been going on?"

"Such as?"

Mathias hmphed at the stonewalling. "Such as, Otis had a problem with some local boys trying to force him into selling his property, and now he doesn't. And Gemma claimed she was being stalked…"

Henry kept his gaze steady, black eyes narrowing. "I have heard these things. It is sad that one cannot feel safe in their own community. I would think that it would be your job to protect these people."

The Tribal police chief tightened his jaw impatiently. He and Henry never did see eye to eye.

Mathias jutted his chin toward Hector's jar. "Tell me straight. Are you taking over where Hector left off?"

"Has anyone been beaten, teeth knocked out? Are my hands battered and bruised?"

"No."

"Then, I am obviously not replacing Hector. No one can." Henry vibrated with internal rage. His guilt over Hector's murder was still a tangible thing. The man had died because he had been looking for him. He had put the target on the mercenary's back.

Mathias tipped his head in acceptance. "What about Frank?"

"What about Frank? I offered him a job. He accepted. He is a grown man with a family to support and a reputation to straighten. He is free to do as he chooses. For now, he chooses to rebuild the overhang on the Red Pony with his son. I encourage that and pay him for his time and effort. They have missed each other and deserve to get reacquainted."

Mathias nodded and began to retreat to the door. "I had to check."

Henry veritably seethed as Mathias left.

"Is he a problem?" Tom asked cautiously.

"No."


	3. Chapter 3 Worries

**3 - Worries**

The call came in at 6am. With my cell phone on vibrate under my pillow; I grabbed it at the first buzz, slipping out of bed so not to wake Henry. I whispered to the caller to hold as I grabbed my jeans and t-shirt and snuck out of the bedroom, quietly closing the door. This was not the first call but one of several I had received over the past couple of months. Henry didn't know. I didn't want to worry him.

Sugar followed me outside for her morning pee and joined me inside the camper where the conversation continued as I got dressed. The familiar cramped quarters had become my little operations center. Computer. Notes. Maps.

New York. The Organization. They needed my help. Again.

Al-Shabaab had increased its active in East Africa. They had been a negative force for decades and recently, the terrorist group had been more vocal. For the past year, they had been carrying through on threats targeting everything from government offices to market places to schools. It didn't matter what it was as long as their point was made: Non-Muslims did not belong in Muslim territories. Old news. Old battles. New recruits for the cause. Sad and disturbing. Over the past few months, though, aggressions had intensified. It seemed that no one was safe. There had even been threats on two North American shopping malls. One in the United States and one in Canada. So far, thankfully, it had just been talk.

So, why was I involved?

I was first read in because of my history with both the UN and with AMISOM: The African Union Mission in Somalia. A UN approved peacekeeping coalition. And, having lived on the Kenyan/Somalian border for years, I knew many of the players. If not personally, certainly by reputation. I was a reliable outside voice with significant inside knowledge. I could provide a new, or at least, different perspective. In a nutshell, they sought my council.

Within a week of the start of our correspondence, however, the violence escalated and a colleague had been killed. The Somalia Ambassador to the UN Human Rights Office from Geneva had been one of twenty killed in a car bomb explosion at the Makka al-Mukarama Hotel in Mogadishu, Somalia. We had worked together a few times. Not a close friend, but he was a nice person working hard to stem the violence in a volatile country. That was the end of March.

The massacre at Garissa University College in April hit much closer to home and was the most vicious attack so far. The violence had crossed the border from Somalia to Kenya. This first time in over a year. One hundred and forty-seven young people dead. Countless wounded. There had been rumblings, but this attack had had no overt threat. It was devastating.

Then, not long after in northeast Somalia, another shocking blow. A bomb had been planted in a UN van in the city of Garowe killing seven UN workers and injuring four. More colleagues dead.

Now, the questions began to mount. How had Al-Shabaab managed to get so close to us without detection? The Organization began to doubt their contacts and associations, closing ranks and scrutinizing activities. The rule was usually pretty simple: trust no one, but when it came to humanitarian aid, it was our nature to trust.

This morning's call had to do with renewed skirmishes outside of El Wak on the Kenyan side of the border in the southeast. With help from a couple of trusted colleagues from two critical sources, people whose loyalties I would not question, I was able to identify two possible key players and their ties to a local ruling clan. These players had been silent for a long time but had recently resurfaced. I had strongly advised the Organization to withdraw from the area fearing another attack, this one aimed at refugees. That morning, a suicide bomber drove through the barrier into a humanitarian compound of migrants. The ensuing explosion had cratered the main office of the aid workers. But, casualties were at a minimum. A few wounded. Most had evacuated. Thank God.

I typed in the coordinates and a satellite image appeared on my screen.

 _Did I have an idea of the next target?_ _Did I have any other suggestions?_

No. I could only guess and advise.

 _Would I be willing to fly to New York? Be part of an advisory panel on this situation?_

I would have to think about it.

 _Would I be willing to return to Kenya to deal directly with the situation?_

My heart leapt to my throat and panic squeezed my stomach. Go back into a terrorist hot spot? I wanted to scream _NO!_ But, it didn't come out.

The call was finally over, and I stared at the tactical map on the small wall by my computer, my vision clouding. I wanted to drop my head between my knees. Breathe! Sugar purposefully dug her nose into the side of my leg nudging me to move, and I stroked between her ears, taking a deep, cleansing breath, shaking off the ominous feeling of dread.

Standing, I closed my eyes and spread my hands to my sides, back stretched, palms up, head tilted to the ceiling, inhaling slow and deep just as Henry had taught me to relax. Then, I opened the camper door stepping out into the early morning sun.

There wasn't really a decision to make. Was there?

Shielding my eyes against the morning glare, Sugar and I strode across the soggy gravel driveway, stone crunching beneath our feet. Torrential rain and wind over the past week had made life messy but it had finally passed, and the prairie was coming into bloom. It was as if Maheo had taken a deep breath and blown the cold and dreariness of winter away preparing the earth for what was to come… and oh boy, did it come. I tipped my head back, a weary smile tugged at my lips as a flock of small birds darted overhead. As if overnight, the leafless trees and brown grasses of a mucky cold spring, burst forth like a shade suddenly being lifted, instantly changing winter to summer. The grass had turned a brilliant green, and sprays of purple Blazing Star, bright red Indian Paintbrush, and orange Cowboy's Delight could be seen opening to the light on the flat horizon.

Sugar and I walked, absorbing the cool sunshine, our feet getting wet as we crossed into the damp grass. Sugar dutifully stayed by my side, keeping pace… that is… until she saw the massive, white-tailed jackrabbit sitting upright near a tuft of grass. She paused, looked up at me as if asking for permission, then bolted, chasing the bounding creature across a hundred foot expanse until it dropped its ten pound body into a hidden hole. My aging friend sniffed the ground searching, tail and ears up, alert, before proudly trotting back to resume her spot at my side as if she never left. I had to laugh, and the weight of the morning's conversation lifted from my heart. Can dogs have human expression? I could swear she was grinning.

The walk took about half an hour. Out past where the short grass turned to sand and stone to the narrow, rocky ridge that overlooked a low, desolate valley. We sat, a gusty breeze stirring minute whirlwinds in the dust below. There was so much to think about yet nothing seemed to form to coherent thought. It was like waves of overwhelming information that I didn't want to deal with. At least, not all at once. Everything was important. I wanted to be part of all of it. But, I knew I couldn't.

I lay back on the rough ledge, arms above my head, toes pointed toward the valley. Sugar stretched out beside me, curled into the curve of my waist, the familiar warmth, the steady rise and fall of her breathing giving me unquestionable support. Light cumulous clouds spotted the pale blue sky like whiffs of thin, white smoke. So similar. So familiar. All that was missing were the animals. Giraffes. Lions. Elephants. Zebras. Rhinos. Kenya had such diverse animal population and Nairobi had one of the best animal orphanages I'd ever seen.

I inhaled deeply pulling myself onto my elbows, gravel digging into the thin skin of my lower arms. This prairie was devoid of large mammals. There were prairie dogs, jackrabbits, snakes, and a variety of small rodents. The occasional buffalo or pronghorn wandered through but nothing really. All this land. Where had all the animals gone? The forest was different. It had everything from bears to mountain lions to raccoons and skunks, and more. But, the prairie? I sighed shifting to sit resting my scraped elbows onto my knees. Such a shame.

I snorted to myself. The one thing it did have that I truly appreciated was the absence of anyone trying to kill you. There was no fear to walk out into the expanse. No fear of stepping on a land mine or being accosted by insurgents or being blown to bits in a tribal or cultural war. I shuddered at the thought. Had I really lived like that for so long?

Standing, I dusted myself off and watched as Sugar rolled onto her side gazing up at me with an _Awww, I don't want to go_ expression.

"Time to head back, Sweetheart." I turned to the grassland, my sweet shadow groaning but obediently trailing behind.

Henry leaned against the painted post on the front porch; right hip hitched, thumb hooked a pocket, steaming coffee in his left hand. He had not given much thought to his clothes when he rose, pulling on the same pair of brown denims and cream chambray shirt he had worn the night before. He left the brown leather vest strewn across the back of the high back wooden chair in the corner of the bedroom with the rest of the laundry.

He had sensed the phone vibrate, had felt her shift and rise, sneaking out of the room. It had not been the first time but he never questioned her on it. Tom had said to be patient. He had said that she never could sit still, always had to have a project going. It drove him crazy and he thought Henry was a better man for putting up with it. Patience. He was trying but it was getting increasingly difficult. He was giving her space, respecting her privacy but when she moved her computer equipment into the camper, he knew she was keeping secrets. It worried him.

He took a sip of the scalding liquid biting back the burn on his tongue when they came into focus on the horizon. Two peas in a pod. Her and the dog. Wounded warriors, Tom had called them. Not military, but they had both seen enough violence to compare to any soldier. They would never get the same attention, though. That was not fair. They had given so much, nearly giving their lives.

He pushed off from the post as they approached, silently stepping down to the drive. She had a drawn look, one that showed as much worry as he felt. Sugar trotted forward first, tail wagging, and he stooped to give her a pat. Julia smiled a weak tired smile and without slowing her pace, walked right into his arms, wrapping herself around his body and snuggling into his chest, heaving a heavy sigh. He instinctively returned the gesture, pulling her close, silently lowering his head into her hair, breathing in the fresh scent of the prairie wind.

Without letting go, she loosened her grip, and spoke into his shoulder.

"We have to talk."


	4. Chapter 4 Decisions

**4 - Decisions**

 _We have to talk._

Words no man wants to hear. They always held an ominous tone, making one expect the worst.

She took his hand and led him back to the porch taking a seat on the narrow swing pulling him to sit beside her. His heart was in his throat and he tried to swallow it down. Let her have her say. Then, he would have his.

"I love you." Her voice was thick with emotion. She gazed into his soul seeing all his questions, studying the tiny lines around his eyes, watching the corners of his mouth tug down. Steady black eyes were filled with concern. She noted that his hair had grown a bit, curling around his ears and up at the collar of his shirt. He'd gained some weight back that he had lost last summer. Things had finally fallen into a comfortable routine. "I owe you an explanation." She kept hold of his hand, toying gently with his right index finger, absently tracing the short nail. "A lot has been happening in Kenya and Somalia the past couple of months." She stared out at the prairie snorting derisively. "A lot has been happening all over Africa and the Middle East. And, no matter what I do, where I am, it doesn't stop." She inhaled deeply drawing her gaze back to him. "I do what I can. One little piece gets fixed then something else happens somewhere else with other players and … it never seems to end. Like a dog chasing its tail. Only eventually, the dog figures out it's a pointless task and stops. Humans haven't figured it out yet. They're still chasing their tails and no amount of telling them otherwise will stop them." She paused considering her next words, blood thundering in her ears. "I've been advising the Organization on ongoing aggressions in East Africa. They've asked if I'd be willing to join a task force in New York." She shuddered lightly. "They also asked if I'd be willing to return to Kenya to deal with the situation directly." He saw the flush rise in her cheeks, the tension in her jaw, but the coolness in her eyes closed his throat. She was struggling. Inhaling deeply again, she slowly pushed on. "I can't go back. Not overseas." Her voice was barely a whisper. "I'm scared to death that I won't come home alive. And, no matter what I do, what will it stop? Really. It doesn't stop."

Henry lifted his hand from her tightening grip and draped his arm around her shoulders pulling her close, wrapping her in the warmth of everything that he could give. And, they sat, silently rocking on the swing, staring blankly across the bright morning, Sugar at their feet.

"Follow your heart." His voice was soft against the top of her head. "Do what you feel you must. I will support whatever you decide. But, in all honesty… I do not want you to go. If your heart is not fully in the task, then you will be in further danger as will those you work with."

She sighed knowing he was right, and lifted her head, drawing her hand to his cheek, lips struggling to turn up, tears brimming on her lashes. Blinking them back, she shook her head.

"I'm not going anywhere. I will do whatever I can to help but I'll do it from here. I've made a new life, with you, and I want to keep it. Call me selfish but I want to live and I want to marry you."

He drew his hand to trace her cheek and jaw with his fingertips, heart swelling to burst in his chest. Lowering his lips to hers, he brushed them softly sparking an urgent need to hold on and kept her safe.

This was home. This was their life now. And, she chose to stay.

xxxxxxx

"August?" Samantha and Kelly chimed in unison reaching over the table at the Busy Bee where we met for lunch.

"Why August?"

"Two months! That doesn't give us much time."

"Where are you going to have it?"

"What are you going to wear?"

"Honeymoon! Don't forget about that! Where are you going to go?"

The questions came fast and furious and I had to grin at their excitement.

"It's not going to be big, just the people we're closest to. The rodeo will be over by August. Things will have calmed down by then. We haven't decided where we'll have it yet. I'm kind of partial to having it on the Rez, somewhere on the prairie."

"African savannah-style," Kelly oo'ed. "I wonder if we can rent an elephant for you to ride in on?"

We all laughed.

"Well, it's _your_ day. You should have what you want. Rez. Prairie. Elephant. Whatever." Samantha tapped the table conclusively.

I shook my head at the silliness. "No. It's _our_ day. Henry will have a say, too. I never understood the idea of it being the "bride's day". She doesn't marry herself and, in my opinion, if you're starting a life together, it should be a partnership, not a domination."

Samantha rolled her eyes. "Where does she get these ideas from?" She laughed at Kelly who rubbed her lips together in thought.

"I kind of agree. Makes sense. Can't get married without the groom."

"Been giving it some thought, have you?" I teased as Kelly blushed.

Samantha shook her head ignoring us. "Practical. Not everything has to be practical. Guys will go along with whatever you say. Do what you want."

"You forget. I've been down this particular road before."

Samantha stared in realization.

"Julia," she reached her hand to cover mine. "I didn't mean to be insensitive but, that was a long time ago. You have the right to be happy."

I turned my hand to hold hers. "I know."

"So… have you decided yet?" The cheery waitress came to take our order as we burst into laughter like giddy school girls.

xxxxxxx

The dusty, saddle brown Dodge Ram 1500 sat on the far side of the parking lot; a lion lurking in the field waiting for its prey. It had been there all morning. It's driver patiently waiting, watching. A number of cars had passed through but not the one he was looking for. With the driver's window down, a black clad elbow stuck out. The Indian inside was on the second half of his cigarette pack for the day, the butts landing in the dirt to smolder way. Where were they? Had he missed them? He didn't think so.

He glanced at his watch as the lot emptied of the lunch crowd, and shortly after 2pm his patience was rewarded. They arrived in a battered, old Chevette with more rust than the original light blue paint. A bent wire coat hanger for an antenna. They parked on the shed side of the building, almost out of sight, and got out, laughing. Father and son.

The Indian smiled. A fleeting thought passing as quickly as it had arrived. Then, he frowned at the pair; no, he frowned at what he had been asked to do. He drew a breath, opened the truck door and stepped out, his eyes never leaving his target. Lumbering across the packed earth, his arms hung like thick tree branches at his sides, his jaw flexed, emotionless. This was the way.

Father and son raised their heads to the approaching man, their smiles fading quickly.

xxxxxxx

"And, you're sure it wasn't here when you left for town?" Walt asked rubbing his day-old shadow thoughtfully.

"Positive," I replied. "Frank and Tommy worked until 11:30. Tommy came in to tell us that his mom had come to get them and they were going home for lunch. They'd be back by two. I left around noon. Got back at 2:30ish. The car was here. They were not."

"I was here the whole time. 10:30 until now. I have not left." Concern was plain on Henry's face. "If they returned, they did not come in to let me know."

Walt turned on the spot surveying the parking lot. The lunch crowd was long gone. The dinner crowd was beginning to roll in. There were only a few cars and trucks in the lot at the moment. Vic was slowly walking the perimeter, head tipped to the ground. He saw her stop, stoop, then crouch, poking at something in the packed dirt with a pen.

"What did you find?" he called out.

"Ash and cigarette butts. Lots of them. Looks like someone dumped an ashtray but none of these are crushed."

Walt joined her, bent to look at the scattered pile of debris. He rose and circled a few paces, scanning the ground. "More here." He pointed. "Same kind. Like they've been flicked away."

Vic joined him. "Someone waiting?"

"Maybe."

"Why? Who'd have a beef with Frank or Tommy Two Feathers? I know he's recently out of jail but as far as I know, he's kept clean."

Walt inhaled and stood tall, hands on his hips looking back at the Red Pony, deep in thought. After the overhang had been fixed, Henry had found another task for the Two Feathers' to do, offering his support to the struggling family.

"Donno for sure." He watched as Mathias arrived in his Tribal Police white Jeep.

"I spoke with Mary," Mathias announced as he swung the truck door open. "Frank and Tommy left home at 1:30. Should have been here by two like they said. She said Frank's gotten a couple of calls over the past month that bothered him. Got him mad and a bit afraid."

"She say from who?" Walt asked.

"She didn't know. He wouldn't say. She said they came at odd hours. Early in the morning. Late at night. During dinner one night. They never lasted long and Frank was always upset after. She asked about it and he brushed it off telling her not to worry."

"You don't think he's gone back to his old ways, do you?"

Mathias' face was grim, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, but he shook his head. "No. He's working hard to stay straight. Looking for whatever legitimate work he can get. It's hard though, with his record."

I cast a concerned look to Henry and moved a step closer. "You don't think… He wouldn't, would he?" I began to stammer as we stood under the finished overhang watching Walt and Mathias in the parking lot.

"It would not be a surprise if he did."

"But, our agreement…"

"Would not cover Frank. He made that clear. Immediate family and friends. The Red Pony. He wanted Frank. For what reason, I do not know. And to him, this is just business. Besides, we do not know for certain what has happened. We cannot expect the worst. Frank may have gone willingly."

I steadied my breathing, watching the Sheriff and Police Chief talk, then nodded. Henry was right. We can't expect the worst.

Together, our gaze shifted to the abandoned Chevette.

But, my gut told me otherwise. There had to be an explanation.


	5. Chapter 5 A Man With A Conscience

**5 – A Man With A Conscience**

"Don't tell your mother."

Frank cradled his aching ribs, limping, favoring his right side as Tommy helped him shuffle along the side of the highway. He wondered, as they walked, just when his son had grown so much. He was still a gangly teen but not the scraggly little kid anymore with torn jeans and a snotty attitude. They were the same height now and his son had grown a maturity that he couldn't help but notice.

"She's gonna know something's up." The teen gently supported his father, arm wrapped around his waist. The Indian who had taken them from the Red Pony parking lot that afternoon had dropped them off about a mile down the road just after dark.

"Maybe we can sneak in. Tell her that we went out for a bite to eat after work."

Tommy snorted. "She won't buy it. You can't sneak past Mom. She's got, like, bat hearing or something."

Frank grinned at the thought, then paused, wheezed, and stretched his back, still holding his battered ribs.

Tommy fumed at what had transpired. Their abductor had said nothing for the entire forty minute drive, ignoring their onslaught of question. Then, once reaching their destination, they had been separated. His father had remained in the locked truck yelling for his son, while Tommy was roughly escorted to a white steel, mobile construction office devoid of everything except a plain white metal desk and a couple of folding metal chairs. He was unceremoniously shoved in and the door slammed shut before he could regain his balance and turn to fight back. He'd stood there, stunned, angry, banging on the door and shouting to get out, but there was no response but the sound of the truck driving off. He swallowed hard. Fear setting in and he backed up until the back of his knees hit the edge of one of the metal chairs. He sat. Turning his head to take in his surroundings, he rushed to the desk, going through the drawers. There was nothing in or on it. No phone. Nothing on the walls. No windows. He slowly regained his seat, sitting on the edge, watching the time tick by on his old Timex. When, the door finally opened hours later, the same Indian silently signalled for him to come. He stepped out into the dusk and saw his father slumped on the hood of the Indian's brown Ram. Racing to his dad's side, questions and demands spewing forth, he helped the older man into the truck while the assailant mutely slid into the driver's seat. His demands were met with stony silence from the driver and a hushing hand signal from his father. He fell silent, stewing.

After half an hour, the truck pulled to the side of the road and the driver uttered his first word. "Out."

As they stood on the shoulder of the dark highway, quarter moon barely giving light, the Ram pulled a U-turn and headed back from where it had come leaving them alone.

"Okay. Now, I want answers." Tommy's eyes flared, demanding an explanation from his father.

As they walked in the direction of the Red Pony, Frank told what he could, knowing that he couldn't reveal all.

"I don't like it," Tommy frowned, simmering with teenage indignation. "It's not right."

Frank nodded slowly. "No, it isn't. He caught me off guard and I didn't know what else to do. I have to protect you and your mom. But, I have a plan." He wagged his finger weakly.

Tommy flinched. His father's plans didn't always work out. His last big one landed him in Tri-State for five years.

"Don't worry," Frank reassured recognizing doubt in his son's expression. "It'll all work out."

Tommy sighed. "I don't get it then. If you agreed to do what he wanted, then why'd you get beat?"

"Show of power," his father said leaning on the boy, rubbing his jaw in thought. "He was makin' his point. Makin' sure I understood. That's the way he is. Patient. Like a coiled rattler. Sits. Watchin'. Warnin'. Then… boom... strikes. Or in his case, has someone else strike." He gritted his teeth as he slowly moved. "You know, I think he pulled a few of those punches. Like his heart wasn't into it. At least he didn't hit the face. Guess that would draw too much attention." He snorted. "And there'd be no getting that past your mom."

"You should tell her the truth," Tommy stated firmly, seeing the spotlight from the Red Pony parking lot come into view.

"I don't want to worry her. She's been through enough."

The moon was on the rise when they finally worked their way back to retrieve their car. The Red Pony was hopping for a Saturday night. Music blasted through the open windows. A few customers were in the lot having a smoke or chatting. Tommy kept to the shadows and led his father to the rusted Chevette, opened the driver's door, then paused.

"You okay to drive?"

Frank's lips eased up into a casual smirk, tired eyes crinkling at the corners. "You can't do it. It's illegal." His smile grew. "Unless you aged more than I thought over the past five years."

Tommy returned the grin. He hadn't told anyone but he'd taken his written test last October and had been practicing every chance he got when no one was around. As soon as he could scrape the money together and as soon as he hit his sixteenth birthday in September, he was going to take his driving test.

Frank clapped his son on the shoulder, partially from affection, partially for balance as he swung into the driver's seat.

"I'm fine," he gritted as the pain in his badly bruised ribs shot through his lungs.

xxxxxxx

Henry was on his haunches in the corner of his office digging through a cardboard box filled with electronic cables and wire attachments. The stage speaker was shorting out again and he was taking a minute to locate another one. He hated the thought of having to buy a new one if there was one here and he just couldn't put his hands on it. Pushing his black-rimmed glasses back up his nose, he pulled out a short cable, examined both ends, and tossed it back into the tangled mess in disgust. He really needed to wrap and label these properly. The search resumed.

At the soft knock on the open office door, he lifted his head, his attention drawn to the stocky forty-two year-old apprehensively wiping his hands on the front of his blue work shirt. Henry rose, dusted his knees off, and invited Frank in, motioning to the ancient, sagging sofa against the opposite wall. Giving the offending box a shovel with his foot, he pushed it back under the metal shelving unit. He'd deal with that later.

When Frank arrived for work Monday morning, he had apologized for not returning Saturday afternoon, claiming that he had hurt himself and a friend had driven him and Tommy to the hospital.

Frank knew that Henry knew it was a lie. But, Henry had accepted his answer, nodding graciously, hoping that he was feeling better, offering a few days off. Frank declined; his guilt and fear overpowering his initial instinct to tell Henry the truth. Henry had been good to him, and to Tommy. And, he always seemed to find work for him even thought his own funds were tight.

"How is it going out there?" Henry rested his backside on the edge of his desk, referring to the newest task.

Frank uneasily rubbed his hands on the coarse denim of his thighs, not meeting Henry's gaze. "It's gonna be nice when it's done. It's a good idea." He finally looked up.

The new project was the brain-child of a night of drinking with Walt. Neither had been drunk but thoughts were flowing as freely as the beer had been. With the rodeo coming, they discussed how to possibly expand the business, how to bring in new or more people. A terrace had been suggested as a joke, but the more they talked, the more Henry liked the idea. Not one of the frew-frew-type terraces you saw at fancy restaurants in Jackson Hole or Cheyenne, but a place outside where you could kick back in the open air rather than in a loud, raucous bar. When the overhang was finished, he had asked Frank if he would be interested in the job. Frank had agreed.

The pair had walked the perimeter one afternoon, bouncing ideas around. Frank had been warmed by Henry's open acceptance of him. He wasn't a jailbird who'd spent five years of his life in prison for theft, but a man in need of honest work to provide for his family. He'd learned his lesson and Henry Standing Bear offered him a chance. They decided the new creation would be in the back, on the far left when looking at the front of the building. They would have to create a new doorway from the dance hall but that particular wall was flat and the task would be easy. The 20x25 foot wooden platform would be a perfect place for an outdoor party. It would have a horizontal, flat-board railing to prevent anyone from falling off and injuring themselves, and customers would have a clear view of the sunset over an expanse of raw, desert-like prairie. Henry was even talking about setting up a movable bar to improve service. The aim was to have it finished before the rodeo next month.

"I was speaking with the Tribal Council this week," Henry began still resting on his desk. "They have approved some renovations at the Community Center to better accommodate the youth group. You have done good work here and with our permission, I would like to submit your name for the job. Would you be interested?"

Henry knew that Malachi, with Nighthorse's permission, had offered Frank a job at the construction site and had a strong suspicion that the mysterious calls, subsequent disappearance and obvious stiffness had something to do with it. He wanted to offer Frank another opportunity.

He could see Frank's angular jaw flex as he mulled the information over, seriousness in his black eyes. Then, slowly he nodded. Hang Malachi. He'd do what he wanted.

He rose and held his hand out to Henry, his stomach in knots. "That'd be great. I'd appreciate it. But, I have to tell you something."


	6. Chapter 6 A Matter Of Mutual Respect

**A/N - My apologies, but I have made some corrections/additions to the past couple of chapters. Trying to get a chapter out per week is effecting the quality. I think I'll extend to every two weeks again. I hope you enjoy the newest installment.**

 **Dani**

 **6 – A Matter Of Mutual Respect **

I heard the Rezdawg pull in. Heard the crunch of footsteps on the crushed drive. Sugar rose from her spot beside the bed, nails clicking on the hardwood floor as she went out to great him. The front door opened, and the screen door closed with a quiet snap.

I rolled over, waited, puzzled. The red digits on the nightstand clock glowed 2:10am. He was late for a weeknight. I strained my ears to listen. There was nothing but the night songs of crickets and cicadas.

Carefully folding back the crisp white sheet, I slipped out of bed, straightened my pink sleep shorts and scant tank, and tiptoed barefoot out of the bedroom to the dark living room. The porch light, which was always left on when he worked late, was off. The inside door was slightly ajar, the netting on the outer door letting in a cool spring breeze goosebumping my skin. I poked my head out to see him sitting silently on the porch swing staring into the black beyond, left hand resting on Sugar's head, fingers lightly stroking the crease on her brow.

"Hey." My voice was low as I quietly pushed the screen door open slipping out. "You okay?" I slid beside him, shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg, hugging myself against the late night's chill.

He pressed his lips together, still staring, inhaled deeply, slowly, gradually nodding.

"You're late tonight. Is everything all right?" Obviously not. Whatever bothered him was clearly etched on his stony face.

There was brooding silence for a moment before he spoke.

"Malachi has asked Frank to spy on me, on us, on what happens at the Red Pony." His voice was calm, unemotional, but a fire flickered in his onyx eyes. "That is why he was taken and beaten. He refused at first but his family was threatened. He was asked to plant surveillance cameras in the restaurant and a listening device in my office."

"That's why you were late? You were looking for them."

"No." Henry's lips quirked up sadly at the corners. "Frank handed them to me this afternoon. He said that he could not do it. He hoped I would forgive him. We talked for a long time and we decided to play Malachi's game." His smile broadened, a glint of delight replacing the flame. "We placed the cameras and bug after the bar closed; therefore, I know exactly where they are. I just have to be careful what is said in my office for the time being." He turned his head toward me with a slight smirk. "So, no office sex for now." His eyes gleamed mischievously.

I snickered feigning disappointment. "Awww, but your desk is just the right height."

He shook his head, the strain that had been on his face fading with each moment. He turned to the brilliant stars above.

"He respects you, you know." My fingertips brushed his shoulder. "What you do. You're a man of honor and integrity and people are drawn to that. They admire it. They recognize it as the foundation of who you are."

"I will have to tell Walt and Mathias in the morning. They must know to be on the watch for Mary and Tommy's safety." He didn't acknowledge my comment.

"Then, you'd have to explain why. Would that be wise? Wouldn't that put Frank in danger if Malachi found out?"

Henry's brows furrowed in thought. "Possibly. Frank said that the Indian who took him pulled his punches. That he did not seem to agree with what he had been asked to do. I believe it was Darius."

"Probably. Want me to talk to him?"

Henry turned slightly, surprised, his arm resting across the back of the swing. "You are still in contact with him?"

"Not really, but we do see each other in passing occasionally. I could make the approach casual. Pump for a little information."

"Do not seek him out… but if the situation should present itself… be careful."

"I know what Darius is all about, and I believe the man has a conscience… unlike his boss. I'll be careful. Now," I stood reaching out my hand, "It's late and the bed is a whole lot more comfortable than this swing."

xxxxxxx

Henry groaned low and long, eyes rolled to the white plaster ceiling with its simple shaded bulb. The moon had finally blessed us with its presence, the slivered crescent shining minimal light through the open window.

"That definitely relieves stress," he grinned skimming his hands over my thighs to cup my buttocks.

Straddling his narrow hips, my fingertips toyed with the light spattering of fine dark hair on his chest. "Mmmm," I smirked. "Therapeutic. Just what the doctor ordered." Leaning forward, I brushed a gentle kiss to his lips then trailed teasing flutters to his stubbly jaw and down his neck. He shuddered to my delight. Dismounting, I curled by his side to be comfortably tucked under his right arm. "I'm glad Frank told you. That also explains why Tommy's been in a mood these past few days. He's been hanging out at the youth center getting extra help for his upcoming math exam and it looks like he's having trouble concentrating. If you want, I could speak with him."

Henry's fingers drew small, pensive circles on my shoulder. "No," he eventually breathed, "I will speak with him. I plan to go to the center tomorrow anyway. I told Frank about the renovations and he is interested in the job. I want to tell Anita."

I smiled, stretching, splaying my hand on his chest, reaching down over his taunt stomach, making him jump, unintentionally tickling him. "We can only do so much to keep Malachi's claws out of people. You were right; they have to make their own decisions. I'm glad Frank is fighting to stay on the right side of things."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "So am I," he yawned.

xxxxxxx

The phone rang shattering all that was good and peaceful. We both jumped, hearts pounding, both of us blindly grabbing for our cell phones as Sugar scrambled to her feet and out of the way.

11am. Oh crap!

"Where _are_ you?" Kelly's worried voice came through Henry's phone loud and clear. "The representative from Cold Mountain Beer is here. You had an appointment with him this morning. The rodeo sponsor. Remember?" Her voice had become a frantic whisper. This was an important meeting, one that had taken Henry over a month to wrangle.

Henry crooked the phone between his shoulder and chin as his hopped on one foot trying to put his foot through the leg of his jeans, and missing. "I did not forget. I, umm, got delayed. Be your charming self. Entertain him. I am on my way." I handed him his shirt as he hung up and rushed to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face and quickly shave. I followed leaning against the corridor wall, arms and ankles casually crossed.

"Don't have the meeting in your office," I reminded. "It's going to be a hard habit to break but even now Malachi is watching that man wait for you."

His eyes clouded over in anger, his lips drew into a thin pressed line. "True. I will have to be more careful." He rushed passed heading to the front door. "But," he quickly turned, grinning, brushing a sultry kiss good-bye, "It was well worth it."

xxxxxxx

Mr. Pendergrass was a small man: stout, barely five foot five even in his two-tone brown Rodeo Brave cowboy boots. He had a full head of curly, flaming red hair and big, bushy mustache. That, with his ruddy complexion and choice of western-style, red checked shirt, bolo tie, and brand new blue Levis, made the middle-aged salesman look more like a rodeo clown that a businessman.

When Henry arrived, he was sitting at the bar, laughing, being dutifully entertained by Kelly. Henry greeted the representative with a firm handshake and an apology, and as Mr. Pendergrass slid from the tall bar stool, Henry led him to a round table near the outer wall by the stage - out of the line of vision of the hidden camera. With an offer of lunch, the men settled down to talk business. It was a pleasant exchange. Easy. Amiable. Mr. Pendergrass "liked" the place. _It had charm,_ he said as his head swivelled absorbing the milieu. By the time the smaller man's dessert was served, a deal had been reached, the contract signed, and both parties were pleased with the result. Cold Mountain Beer would not only sponsor Henry's end-of rodeo dance, it would be the new draft supplier for the bar. Mr. Pendergrass left smiling, two tickets for the dance tucked into his shirt pocket, the new contract safely in a leather satchel that looked more like an aged saddlebag. Henry remained seated reviewing the documents once again. This was good. It was a good deal that would alleviate some of Red Pony's financial strain.

Kelly approached; rag in hand, to clear the table of Henry and Mr. Pendergrass' Buffalo burger lunch.

"Went well?" she asked sliding into the seat opposite her boss. "Odd choice for a contractual meeting, though. Something wrong with your office?"

Henry held his manager's eyes. "It has bugs. Or, should I say _a_ bug."

"Shhhh." Kelly quickly raised her hand to silence him, eyes casting to the sides. "Not so loud. The word _bug_ gets out, you'll empty the restaurant."

Henry smiled. "Not that kind of bug." He, then, explained about Frank, Tommy, Malachi, the cameras and listening device.

"That bastard," Kelly's indignation rose. "Didn't he promise to leave you alone?"

Henry tipped his head in a half nod. "He did and it appears that he is breaking his agreement. Julia will deal with that if and when the time comes. My guess is that he believed Frank would not be suspect and trusts his loyalty."

"Frank is more loyal to you," she huffed. "Malachi should realize that. You've been the one helping him and Tommy."

"Yes, but Malachi sees Frank's past, being in prison, and believes he is weak, easy to intimidate. He has threatened his family. We must be sensitive to that."

"Of course. I'm glad it backfired," Kelly smirked. "What an ass." She leaned back in her chair as Frank came in through the saloon doors, paused, and located his boss. "I'll get back to work." She nodded toward the handyman as he made his way over.

"Thank you for giving me the morning off." Frank slid into Kelly's vacated spot. "Tommy will join me this afternoon. He had an exam this morning but is finished for the day."

"Does he have another one tomorrow?'

"No. He's off until next week. He has one left. Math. Strange kid. He likes the subject."

Henry smiled. "He struggled with it for a while until he learned just how useful it is."

Frank smiled back, nodding. "He told me that he would like to run his own business one day. Wants to go to college. I think I have you to thank for that. You're a good man, Henry. I appreciate all you've done for us. How could Malachi think I'd go against you?"

"He is a determined man." Henry raised a glass of water to his lips. "But, I believe it best if we at least keep the appearance of distance. I will be meeting with Anita this afternoon. I will pass along your name. When the terrace is finished, you will be gone, but the cameras will still be here. He will have to find a way to either get them back or continue monitoring."

Frank chuckled. "I'd like to see him try."


	7. Chapter 7 Getting It Done

**7 – Getting It Done**

One week went by. Then two. Plans for the rodeo were finalized. The terrace was nearly finished. School was out and the youth center was bustling. Excitement was all around.

I had seen Darius a couple of times but not for long and not close enough to have a chat. He'd spot me on the street, outside The Tone, by the market, and quickly turn away, keeping a distance. It was as if he expected that I'd be coming for him and was avoiding me. Smart man.

The cameras and bug were still operating at the Red Pony, and we had had some fun with them. Although Malachi could see the daily goings-on in the restaurant and bar, they were angled in a way that circumvented the till and office. What we allowed him to see was a dedicated staff, happy customers, and occasionally, us hamming it up for his entertainment… and ours. I wondered what it was all for, though. What information could he possibly be gathering? In retrospect, I think we should have kept them down and personally delivered them back to Malachi, but Henry wanted to play this game and, being that it was his business, not mine, I went along… but kept watch.

My hammer hit home driving the two-inch nail into the four-by-four post. With the terrace framed and the floorboards levelled, the railing was the final touch. The slats would be a horizontal design. Easy. Inexpensive, but, sound. Frank and Tommy held a board as I secured it.

"When is the guy coming to cut the door?" Tommy asked as we moved to the next rail.

"Tomorrow if the weather holds. That's why we'd like to have most of this done by then." My finger circled motioning to the project. It had been cloudy all week threatening rain that had yet to fall. "We'll leave that side open." I pointed to the six-foot gap on the south end of the platform. "That way the workers can come and go without trekking through the restaurant."

Frank nodded as he hoisted another board into place. "I'm impressed. You're good at this. The kids say you built schools in Africa."

"Among other things." I dropped a nail, picked it up and put the flat end in between my lips,balancing the hammer in my right hand.

"You ever miss being there? I hear you did a lot of good."

"All the time. But, life is always changing. You have to roll with it. I was recently offered a chance to go back, but turned it down."

Tommy's head shot up nearly dropping the board he was holding. I swung, missed the nail, striking the post instead.

"They wanted you back?" There was slight panic in his voice.

"Honey, they always want me back," I chuckled lightly. "But, Henry and I are getting married in a couple of months. I won't go gallivanting off to a war zone and risk missing that."

"He wouldn't let you go?" Frank was surprised.

I laughed. "It's not a matter of permission, and I'm a big girl. I don't need his. I love him, and don't want to take the take the chance of getting injured, or worse, coming back in a box. Tribal wars are a constant threat over there. And, the one they wanted me to work on has already killed hundreds – civilians, soldiers, aid workers. They don't discriminate. Anyone will do and they're targeted, well-organized attacks."

"But, could you help stop it?" Tommy's intense voice reflected the views of peace and co-existence that I have been impressing on the kids since I had arrived. It was obvious some of what I had been saying was sinking in.

We moved to the next section and continued the rail.

"Not this one, I'm afraid. These wars have been going on for decades and many people have tried to talk peace, but you can only have peace if both sides want it. Unfortunately, in this one, that's not the case." I paused, leaning back for a moment. "You know, I hear complaints all the time about the how the Native and white populations here don't get along. Bad history. Mistrust. Dissention. Even outright hatred. Cultural differences that people are unwilling to accept or adjust to and the unfair power of one culture over the other. But, for the most part, you rein your behaviour in. Take a more peaceful approach to dealing with the situation. Over there… there are those who will simply shoot you down or blow you up for being different. I've got the bullet holes to prove it and, quite honestly, I don't want any more."

They nodded in understanding, and we moved to the final board.

"So, when's the wedding then?" Tommy smiled, changing the subject.

I hit the last nail home and stood stretching out my aching back.

"August, sometime. Don't have an exact date yet. Still having issues with big eyes and ears in the house." I tipped my head toward the bar, not thinking.

Frank ducked his head, shook it. "I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be." I knelt to the man who was picking up the tools, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, hearing my knee click like a landmine trigger as I bent. "You did the right thing by telling Henry. There haven't been any more threats, have there? Not to your family, not here." He shook his head. "Good. Then, if no one has said anything, he's none the wiser to our little ruse." Frank's lips twisted up in a repentant smile. "Now, if you two would do something for me, I'd really appreciate it."

"Sure. Anything. What?" They both rose above me.

"Help me up." I grinned, reaching my arms, my knees having locked under me.

xxxxxxx

It was done. Two solid weeks but it was a sight to see. The platform was sturdy with no gaps between the boards. The railing was solid to prevent accidents. The space we had left for the construction workers had been filled in. Henry had hired two men he knew from a local construction company to cut and frame the new entrance. Payment was in trade: vouchers to the restaurant and bar - food and drink. They were pleased with that. When it was all done, we stained and painted the new wood: weathered oak for the deck and railing, fire engine red for the frame and solid door. It looked striking and blended well with the existing design.

During an afternoon lull, Henry invited the entire staff onto the new deck, and popped open a fresh keg of Cold Mountain beer to celebrate, iced tea for me. It was a happy moment. Satisfying. And, we lifted our glasses to toast the success. My time was limited, though. I had made a promise to help Anita at the Community Center. So, waving to the group and kissing my fiancé good-bye, I headed out while they enjoyed the afternoon sun.

"She's here! She's here!" Marcus' shrill voice echoed in the hall as he ran in through the open doors of the Center, arms waving in childlike enthusiasm.

There was quite a crowd for a weekday afternoon. A number of boys played pool on the far left away from the kitchen. There was a group of boys and girls enjoying a rousing game of ping pong in the back near the mural. Several teens had struck up a card game with a few Elders at a table in the right corner away from the noise. Anita and Yvonne were in the kitchen with a few of the girls. And, in the center of the room, a large, rectangular table held plans for the renovations.

I entered to the din of voices, pleased and proud at what I saw. Community. That's what this was all about. Bringing people together. Closing the generation gap. A couple of years ago, when I initiated the Stone Soup Garden, I saw a slow but sure rebirth of the sense of community on the Rez, and was proud to be accepted as part of it. That acceptance wasn't immediate. It had taken time. But, eventually they saw me, not the colour of my skin. One of the few outsiders to be let into the circle. I may have lost one family when I left Africa, but I had gained a new one here.

"Julia!" Marcus came racing to me, latching onto my knees, hugging tight, knocking me off balance. He grabbed my hand, tugging me to follow. "Come. You have to see." He dragged me to the table in the center to show me the new plans. "It's gonna be so cool!"

I smiled at the men and boys standing around it.

"We've made a decision," Frank announced with a grin. "Since this is for the youth group, they're going to have a hand in working on it. Can't think of a better way to teach a skill than to have them do it."

Excellent idea. A thought I had had but didn't want to press my view onto something they were putting together. I'm glad someone thought of it, though, and the boys proudly stood over the plans eager to get it into motion.

"It looks great. Can count me in, too. Tell me when and where and I'll bring my tools."

"Hey, Julia. Look at this." Tommy was playing ping pong with a friend and had built up to a rapid-fire rhythm, the tiny, plastic ball almost invisible as it whipped back and forth with a snap at each landing.

"Cool." Marcus gushed his word-of-the-week as he advanced to watch.

I started to follow.

"Hey, Julia." Another voice called from across the room and I turned to respond.

Then, it began.

"Julia. Look."

"Julia… come…"

"Julia…"

"Julia…"

"Julia…"

I spun to the calls that came from all directions becoming overwhelmed. Shortness of breath began first. Then, the nerves. The involuntary shiver. Panic tingled down from my head through my shoulders into my back turning my legs into water. I stopped, closed my eyes, and had to raise my hands for them to stop. Trembling, I wanted to back into a wall or crouch to the floor. Self-preservation instinct kicking in. But, I froze and fought to control the impulse, fought to steady my labored breathing.

Mississippi one... Mississippi two…

They stopped. Staring. Uncertain silence. Then, Marcus' silly little giggle.

And then, an explosion of voices.

"Happy birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!"

My eyes shot open and my hand flew to cover my mouth as Yvonne emerged from the kitchen, a large rectangular cake in her hands. Layla and Anita followed carrying paper plates, plastic forks, and napkins.

"Happy birthday to Julia! Happy birthday to you!"

Cheers and applause rose as I felt a hand snake around my back pulling me to safety. A whisper in my ear.

"We have never celebrated your birthday since we have been together. I felt it was time."

I sniffed, feeling the tears well as I turned to wrap my arms around the man I loved.

"I thought you had to work tonight."

"I could not. Not tonight. This is your night."

I tipped my head back brushing a tender kiss along the underside of his jaw. "I love you," I whispered against his earlobe.

He tightened his embrace, lowering his head to mine.

"Can we have cake now?" Marcus chimed sparking the others to laugh, breaking to the romantic moment.

xxxxxxx

The grim exterior of the single-level cottage with its peeling peach-coloured paint, broken shutters and unkempt yard belied the lush interior. But, then again, few had ever had been privy the interior.

He sat, elbows on his knees, on the overstuffed, black leather sofa in the small but opulent living room, a tumbler of twelve year-old scotch in his left hand. His fingers toyed with the TV remote and the 46-inch Sony mounted on the far wall suddenly came to life: the sports channel. He hated sports, but it served his purpose. Everything did.

Keying in the auxiliary setting, he entered the three-digit code, and the large screen went black then came back to life, divided into four smaller displays. He leaned back, crossed his linen-clad legs and smiled. The top two images were of the interior of the Red Pony. The idiot Frank had mounted the cameras in the wrong places, but at least he could see most of what was happening. Although it was a busy place, he couldn't understand how Hank could run his business so casually. He was there most of the time, but was too friendly with his staff, gave them too much leeway. And what little business that was done in his office was hardly worth fighting over the place. But, he wanted it anyway, for the simple reason that his original offers had been denied. No one said _no_ to him.

The bottom two cameras were easy enough to install. No one had seen or if they had, had not given his man a second look. The one on the bottom left was set up on a lamp post on the opposite side of the road from a pretty little white bungalow with dark blue shutters. That blonde manager of his. She was keeping company with a soldier and he never knew when the man was in town. The other was a side view, the best he could get from the top corner of the garage, of a cozy front porch with a two-seater swing. He smiled, shifting, clicking to single out that image. Oh, what he had seen on that porch. The lovebirds. His smile turned into a sneer. It was one thing to taste different flavors but to betray his own race by shacking up with that white bitch... His blood began to boil and he cursed Deena for ruining the plan. She had to jump the gun and steal that money. It had taken a year of persuasion and pay-offs to have her return to Durant and resume her relationship with Hank. He shook his head angrily. But, the lure of the pool hall was too strong in her and Hank had moved on to… that _ve'hoe'ame_. He shook the remote at the image as the Rezdawg drove up the drive. It parked, partially blocking his view of the porch, and they got out, laughing, moving up the stairs. Hank had his hand on her shoulder, skimming down her back as she opened the front door and was greeted by that black dog of hers. They bent, scratching its ears, and she took the dog to the dirt patch beside the house so it could relieve itself as the lights inside came on.

 _Hmm_ , he leaned forward, watching.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N - It has been brought to my attention that I may have made an error in the last few paragraphs. Rest assured, I have not. There is only one character who called Henry "Hank"? Can you guess who? :)


	8. Chapter 8 Bing, Bang, Boom

**8 – Bing, Bang, Boom**

"Aw, come on. That's just down right unpatriotic," Samantha protested flipping through the rack of on-sale summer dresses at Shopko on the outskirts of town. Discouraged, she pushed them all back into place and frowned. "Nothing."

I smiled at her complaints. "It's hardly unpatriotic and I never said I wasn't going. I'm still thinking about it. You know how I am with noise and crowds."

Samantha turned, hands on hips, shaking her head at me. "You can't live in a bubble for the rest of your life and Independence Day is fireworks and people. Get used to it. Besides, we'll all be there to sit on you and hold you down if you try to run," she teased. "There's going to be bands and food and games. You'll have fun."

"I have no doubt," I chuckled watching her attack the next rack. "I'll talk with Henry again."

"Any update on the wedding?" she eagerly asked pausing to examine the tag on a bright red pencil skirt.

"Well, the reception will be at the Red Pony," I grinned.

"No duh," she chortled rolling her eyes. "Venue?"

"Undecided."

"Dress?"

"Already have."

Her brows rose and she turned questioningly to me. "When did you get it?" I could see the hurt at not being invited along for the purchase.

"I already had it. I don't see the sense in spending hundreds that I don't have on a dress that I'll only wear once. I wore this one to Brook's wedding in May."

"Oh." She absently returned to her task. I know she wanted to say more but held her tongue. Our views on weddings were very different. For her, a wedding was pomp and pageantry. For me, it was a personal declaration of love. "Invitations?" she continued the interrogation.

"Photocopy machine is broken."

"What?" she spun, eyes wide. Ahh, that got her mind off the dress.

I raised my brow innocently. "What? A flyer not good enough?"

She sputtered, flabbergasted.

"We were going to send e-mails but I don't have everyone's and I'm not on Facebook."

"No. No. No. No…" was all she could manage with her hand comically holding her heart.

Oh, I so wanted to play it though but I couldn't. "At the printers. Going out next week," I relented with a grin.

She blew out a breath taking a swat at my arm. "Not nice. Really not nice." She laughed with a shake of her head.

Pulling a white, thin-strapped dress with bright pink and green flowers splashed across the fabric from the rack, she held it in front of me. "This would look great on you. It shows off your tan."

"Do you know I own more clothes now than I have in my entire life?"

"Oh, honey, I've seen your closet. That's a really sad statement. Do you like this? I think it's you. Besides you're going to need a new outfit for the dance."

My turn to shake my head. "That's still weeks away."

"And look." She spread her hand dramatically to the vast selection of clothes. "There's hardly anything left. Here." She shoved it into my arms. "Go try it on."

xxxxxxx

Samantha and I parted ways around noon, our shopping excursion being largely unsuccessful. The dress she had picked out looked better on the hanger than it did on me. But, she managed to find a lavender pink peasant blouse with a white embroidered neckline, nice and airy, while I picked up a scarf brushed brightly with azure, fuchsia, yellow and orange. It was light and flowy and reminded me of a traditional Kenyan print.

As Samantha turned left onto route 50 toward Medicine Lodge, she stuck her hand out the driver's window and waved. She had a tour group coming in at 1:30 to see the new archeological display that she had put together over the winter. Henry had helped with the identification of collected pot shards and ancient Native cooking utensils found around an old fire pit. Blackfoot, he'd said. Carbon dating had put them to about four hundred years old. I had seen the exhibition at the beginning of the season and thought Samantha had done an excellent job recreating the dig. For anyone who didn't know better they would think they were looking at the original excavation. The hole had been framed and covered with a large sheet of plexi-glass so that visitors could see what the items had looked like in the ground.

I continued straight, driving through Durant and down Main Street as the lunch crowd was heading back to work. I waved to Walt who stood outside the Sheriff's office. My eyes carefully followed his gaze to two young men balanced on ladders on opposite sides of the street. They were stretching a banner between two light posts. With a sudden snap, the fabric billowed in the breeze nearly pulling the advertisement from one young man's hands. He made a desperate grab and nearly fell from his perch. _Absaroka County's_ _24_ _th_ _Annual County Fair and Rodeo._ It was coming up fast. Another couple of weeks.

The town square was abuzz with activity. Several members of Durant High School's brass band were in the bandstand rehearsing for tomorrow's July 4th festivities. Maggie and her old dog were sitting under a shady dogwood listening. She'd spent the winter with a couple on the Rez but once the warm weather returned, she was off and wandering again. Two old men played checkers on a bench on the far side on the square. And, a young mother pushed a stroller along the path toward Carmine's Bakery. I smiled. Not much different from two years ago when I rolled through town to get my flat tire fixed. So much has changed yet so much has stayed the same.

I turned right at the lights and headed out of town.

Three years. Three years since I was sent back to the States. Broken in so many ways and refusing to give up. Two of those years had been spent here, healing. I smiled to myself. Who would have thought this is where I'd end up? Certainly not me. And… I wouldn't give this life up for anything.

Ten minutes down the road and I saw the Red Pony; my oasis shimmering in the summer haze. As it came into view, getting closer, my heart filled. Another, _who'd'a thought_? I was grinning now. Another, _I wouldn't change it for the world._

As I pulled into the parking lot, my good mood slipped as I spied a saddle brown pick-up nose in to the hitching post by the front door. I knew that truck. Driving past, I pulled into the rear and parked by the kitchen exit. Quietly entering the hot room, the smell of deep fry fat and grilling meat hitting my nostrils; I saw the cook plating meatloaf and mashed potatoes with peas for a late customer.

He turned to call "Order up" but never got the words from his mouth.

"Carl." I tried to quietly draw his attention.

He jumped a foot skillfully balancing the plates and setting them down on the prep counter before grabbing his heart, eyes wild.

"Woman!" he gasped. "What the hell?"

"Sorry." I drew my finger to my lips then pointing toward the restaurant, whispered, "What's going on out there? Why is Darius here?"

"Crap. I don't know." He was still clutching his chest trying to catch his breath. "Kelly came in here a minute ago fumin'. Henry's takin' care on him. All I know is I got two plates here heading for table eight, and if she doesn't come get 'em soon they'll be cold."

I patted my friend on the shoulder, tossed my purse onto a chair by the swinging door and quickly washed my hands.

"I'll take them out." Grabbing the plates, my mind whirling with questions and worry, I put my butt to the door and back into the restaurant.

Kelly was taking an order from a table by the fireplace and I nodded in her direction letting her know that I had this.

Smiling, I served the older couple by the jukebox and asked if there was anything else I could get them. Henry saw me and moved to another customer down the counter sending me a thin smile and quick nod. I glanced at Darius' back. He was watching me in the mirror behind the bar. Pasting on my sweetest smile, I moseyed on over and slid onto the stool beside Malachi's minion before Henry could react.

"Hi. It's been a while." I smiled, my hand gently touching his arm catching him off guard. "That's on me." I gave a quick point to his beer. "Hot enough out there. You should take your jacket off and stay a while."

He recovered quickly schooling a stoic expression and turned his head in a silent question.

"I owe you." I clarified picking at the pretzels in a wooden bowl in front of him.

"How do you see that?" With his elbows on the counter, he raised the mug to his lips, drawing down a mouthful.

"I never got to pay you back for rescuing me in the winter." I leaned my elbows on the counter and gave a veiled signal to Henry to join us.

Darius snorted and shook his head, looking down at the polished surface. "I wasn't the one driving and I didn't know it was you in the truck."

"Well, it was Henry's truck and if you thought it was him, then I'll hold my surprise and owe you two beers," I chuckled lightly.

He snorted again, his lips curling up sardonically at the corners. He took another sip from the condensation-covered mug, licking the golden liquid from his upper lip.

"So… what brings you here?"

He held up his mug. "Beer."

"According to Darius, we are the only distributer of Cold Mountain beer in the area." Henry casually strolled over tossing the bar rag over his shoulder.

Darius nodded slowly. "Good beer." He tipped the mug back, downing the last of the liquid, placing the mug back onto the counter. Shifting, he slid from the stool and stood, straightening his black, leather jacket.

"Are you going to the celebration tomorrow? There are supposed to be some good bands at the park." I looked at him hopefully.

He paused for a moment then slowly shook his head.

"Aw, come on." I reached to gently touch his sleeve again. "It'll be fun." I echoed Samantha's sentiment.

He paused again, perplexed, then turned to leave.

As the saloon doors swung behind his retreating figure, Kelly was quickly behind me hissing in my ear.

"What the hell was that all about? Are you nuts?"

Henry remained still with his hands flat down on the counter his expression patiently composed as I put my arm around Kelly's shoulder steering her to the stool and whispering to the two of them.

"The cameras don't have sound. Malachi will see Darius here with us having a friendly conversation. The beer was on me. I made sure that gesture was visible and clear. Fraternizing with the enemy."

Henry smiled and leaned forward onto the counter. Kelly mirrored her boss's stance. Our heads close together.

"Oh, you demon," she chuckled. "You're playing with him. What if he shows up at the fireworks?"

My smile broadened. "Then, the games continue."

xxxxxxx

I had discovered over the past year that Prosinski Park off Western Avenue was the center of most outdoor community activities in town. It was pretty easy for everyone to access and was attached to a much larger city park with walking and bicycle trails. I had seen the flyers for the winter carnival, "dirt" dances, town challenges, softball games, and now, the Independence Day celebration. Although, there had been small stations all over town, mini celebrations, it seemed that by 2:00 on Saturday afternoon, most of the four thousand inhabitants of Durant had crammed into the three-square-acre softball fields. The two fields were in opposite corners of the fenced-in lot with a huge grassy area in-between that, today, was covered by kiosks, awnings, inflatable games, and cordoned off spaces for races of all sorts.

With Sugar by my side and Marcus holding my hand in a death grip, we followed Yvonne and Layla to the Bouncy House in the center of the field where a line of children were waiting their turn. Shoving his cotton candy into my hand, Marcus raced forward and plunked himself on the grass beside the entrance to pull off his shoes. Serene Layla found some friends in line and left her mother's side to join them.

"Isn't that Vihoe Silver Fox?" Yvonne asked pointing to the young man lifting a small child into the unstable entrance.

I squinted in the sunlight, shielding my eyes. "I think you're right, and, oh my goodness, looks who's with him."

Andy Hutchinson. When I first took on the special project at the senior high school, Vihoe and Andy were mortal enemies. A conflict that had lasted as long as their years in school. It was partially racial but, as I got to know the two boys, discovered that it was also because both boys were what scientifically would be called Alphas – strong, dominating personalities. Like any creature, you put two Alphas together and they clash. I put all my skills to work to teach these boys how to get along by finding common ground, explaining that you don't have to like each other or even be friends in order to co-operate. It had been a challenge but in the end had been a success.

Andy opened the flap to the house ordering the group of children inside out so the next lot could go in while Vihoe made sure the waiting group had their shoes off and knew the rules.

I smiled and waved as Andy realized I was there. He waved back and called to Vihoe, jutting his chin in my direction.

"Hey Miss," Vihoe called. "Becca and Jules are at the Fun House and Simon and Polly are in the Bingo tent."

My smile broadened. I had seen Jessie wheeling the cotton candy and Sonia at the face painting tent, too. These kids were the misfits of the school, either academically or behaviorally. When I took on the special project, my goal was to make them a team. Through the winter, they/we played Bingo at the seniors' center one Friday a month, had helped the local Lions Club man the events at their winter carnival, had helped sort and stack the books at the school book fair, helped Henry deliver lunches to the Elders and a few were on rotation at the youth center on the Rez. They were learning to work together, getting recognition for jobs well done, and that built their confidence and pride. It was good to see that they had taken the initiative and given their time during their summer break to help at this event. My mind started thinking to the school year ahead.

Layla and Marcus rejoined us, laughing and red-faced from exertion, and Yvonne looked at her watch.

"Lester should be picking us up soon. You and Henry are coming over for supper, aren't you?"

"As far as I know." I spied a familiar face wandering by the fence. "Um, we'll be there by six. I think Henry has someone else covering the bar tonight."

As the children dashed off again, I excused myself and headed for the exit, keeping my target in my peripheral vision. He lumbered along the fence toward the opening to the street and got there just ahead of me. I caught up to him half way down the block.

"Fireworks start at ten," I said to his back.

He glanced over his shoulder, then stopped, turning. "Got things to do."

"Interesting to see you here. Were you looking for someone or just looking?"

He pulled a pack of smokes from his coat pocket, glancing around as he put one in his mouth.

"Those things will kill you, you know," I said as he struck the match lighting it.

He blew a blue stream toward the sky. "We're supposed to stay away from each other."

I nodded. "And, that's why you came to the Red Pony? You're right, the agreement was that you guys stay away from us. You've broken that, but we're accepting people. You didn't seem to be there to cause harm… I hope. It's not my nature to be rude, and I'm willing to let bygones be bygones, but understand, I will protect what I care about."

He snorted. "Ice wrapped up in a warm smile. I just wanted the beer. Nothing more."

"Darius." I took a chance. "I know quite a lot about you – from what I've experienced to what I've read. And, I've seen pieces of you that I don't think you realise you're letting me see." He glanced away but I knew I had his attention. "I don't trust Malachi and I don't like him, but you're different. You're not like him, and that's a good thing. Money isn't everything. It buys stuff, not happiness."

He snorted again. "Ya, that from a someone who's probably had everything handed to you."

Call me crazy but I was willing to share. "In the early years, maybe. We were middle class. But, I was orphaned at sixteen, no relatives to take me in, got lost in the foster system for months until they realized that, ya, they had actually lost me." I smiled. "I'd run away, back to the house I grew up in. I gained emancipated minor status at seventeen and have been on my own ever since. I had to work my way through school because I had no one to help me. I could have whined and blamed bad behaviour on what had happened or I could make something out of myself. I was given an opportunity, yes, and I took it and it changed my life forever. Are we capable of making changes in our life? Absolutely. But if we make excuses for our behaviour and not take responsibility for what we do, it'll never change."

"Nice speech."

"It wasn't meant to be. You frustrate me because I see so much more in you than being Malachi's tool. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have laid all that on you."

His shoulders rose and fell. "I might be there tonight," he said as he turned and walked away.

xxxxxxx

Samantha had been right. The gang was all there. Ethan joined us. Kelly. Cady. Yvonne, Lester and the kids. Even Walt stopped by, Vic towing behind. They were on duty and Ferg milled about the perimeter.

It had been a fun and tiring day that was finally coming to an end.

The inflatable games were down and packed away. Many of the vendors and kiosks were closed. The stage was still set and bands would be playing until midnight.

We had picked a spot in a clearing to set up collapsible, camp chairs facing the center of the softball field. It's not like I'd never seen fireworks before. Just not like this. And, not in a very long time.

Sugar was tuckered out and curled on the ground between Layla and Marcus whose arms were strewn protectively over the old soul. I could see Marcus' head bob as he struggled to stay awake. Layla leaned back into her father's legs for support.

With the first startling boom I jumped and Sugar's head popped up. Henry placed his arm around my shoulders and smiled warmly as Layla hugged Sugar and whispered, "It's okay" into her ear.

Then, it began. The whiz. Pop. Bang. A kaleidoscope of colours bursting against a black canvas. Catherine Wheels spun. Bombettes exploded like stars. Flitters shot straight up and cascaded glittery trails as they fell back to earth. Peonies, the most common firework that never ceases to draw _ooos,_ bloomed in the dark. It lasted for twenty minutes and I sat rooted to my chair gripping the arm rests but smiling at the beauty. With the two-minute finale of a variety of colourful explosions, it was finally over and the crowd began to gather their belongings, tired children slung over parents' shoulders as they packed up to leave.

Henry slid the chairs into their carry bags and hooked both over his shoulder reaching his free hand to hold mine. He had explained earlier that he didn't usually come to this celebration, that Independence Day was the beginning of the end for the Native people. When the states unified, it put further pressure on the Indians to either move or fight back. It would be a losing battle.

I wrapped my arm around his waist and leaned to kiss his cheek. "I love you," I whispered.

xxxxxxx

It was late. Dark. Cold. Dew settling on the arid ground.

He stood behind the building and lit a match watching it flare and glow like a firefly. It singed his fingers and he dropped it to the ground.

Henry had checked in at two, closing up. The terrace had been a popular place tonight. If you sat at the right angle, you could see some of the high fireworks in the distance.

He lit another match watching the flame sputter then extinguish with a sudden gust of air.

He tipped his head to the sky gazing at the million glitters: ancestors that watched what he did, every move he made.

He lit another match and a cloud passed over the half moon and another, stronger gust, blew the match out.

He snorted and dropped the burnt cardboard into the dirt burying it with the toe of his boot. Tipping his head to the sky again, his lips curled up and he nodded slightly. He got the message. Hands stuffed into his coat pockets, he dropped his head, turned, got into his truck and drove off.


	9. Chapter 9 Trouble With A Capital D

**9 – Trouble With A Capital D**

A resounding crack had Carl jolt, dropping the vat of mixed vegetables onto the prep counter sloshing the scalding liquid over the front of his vintage, grey, Hank Williams t-shirt. He sucked in his breath, gritting his teeth as he jumped back from the mess. It was ten in the morning. He was alone in the restaurant's small kitchen putting the final touches on the weekly Elder's Outreach lunch: roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, vegetables, and biscuits. Henry and Julia would be by soon with a couple of kids from the youth center to package them up to be delivered. Twenty-six Elders now were served a free lunch every Friday from the Red Pony's kitchen. Carl didn't know how Henry made ends meet. Business was always good but not extraordinary. It seemed that any little bit extra he got went toward people who needed it more. Henry had always been generous but since his trip to Kenya last February with Julia, it seemed that he was even more aware of people's true needs.

Another crack had Carl spin his head to the door leading to the restaurant. He listened figuring it was the kids who had come to help playing pool while they waited. But, there were no voices. No laughing or joking. Just the sound of pool balls crashing together.

Wiping his shirt with a dishcloth, he curiously pushed the swinging door open. Frowning, his brows knitted together as his temper grew.

"How the hell d'you get in?" he angrily asked.

Deena tossed her long brown hair back over her shoulder, half ignoring him as she leaned to take the next shot. She struck the cue ball sharply in the center and sent it flying diagonally across the green felt to smoothly knock a solid red ball into the side pocket. Standing, left hand gripping the pool cue like a hiking stick, right hand on her hip, she hitched right and smiled defiantly.

"I have a key."

Carl's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I thought Henry took your keys."

"Guess you thought wrong." She casually moved around the table to get a better angle for her next shot.

He strode over putting his hand on the pool cue before she could take her stance. "I don't think so. An', I'm gonna ask you to leave." He calmly but firmly stated.

She laughed, flipping her hair back, placing her hand gently on his chest. "Honey, I'm waiting for Henry. He should be here soon, right?"

They were about the same height and Carl gazed intently into her dark eyes. "If he told you to meet him here, then you should know when he's gonna show up. An', I'm still askin' you to wait outside." He jabbed his finger toward the front door.

Reaching for her elbow to escort her out, she took a step toward him, full breasts popping from the top of the skin tight black leather vest she wore. Her fingers danced their way up his chest.

"Come on. It's boring out there." She ran the flat of her hand down the front of his t-shirt stopping at the water stain above his belt buckle and smirked.

He disdainfully removed her hand unaffected by her advance. It wasn't the first. He always hoped it would be the last. He took her elbow again, this time successfully steering her toward the exit.

"I can leave on my own." She jerked away, her demeanor abruptly changing. "I always wondered about you? Seems you don't like girls?" She turned toward him again. "Or, maybe you just don't like me." Her pout was insincere. Moving a breath away, her fingers lightly traced up the line of tight muscles on his arms. "Come on." Her hands stroked his biceps and she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. "Let's have some fun."

Ignoring the taunts, he drew his hands to her wrists pulling them away. He was about to take a step back when the saloon doors opened and Henry strode in. His eyes lit on the pair, then narrowed. Smiling over her shoulder, Deena eased her arms around Carl's neck pressing close and kissing him soundly on the lips. With a loud moan of pleasure, she moulded her body into his before he could push her away.

Retreating, she smirked, wiping a smudge of cherry red lipstick from his mouth with her thumb before sashaying in Henry's direction, grinning spitefully as she passed. "See ya around, sweetheart," she tossed to Carl.

As she left, Carl brought his right hand to his forehead, fingers kneading the growing headache, feeling the pressure of his embarrassment. "We have a problem."

"Oh?" Henry raised a single brow at his cook.

Carl shook his head. "She had a key. Said she was waitin' for you."

"I took her keys." Henry's jaw flexed, his black eyes snapping as he stepped forward stopping no more than a couple of inches from Carl's face. He could see the little trickle of sweat running down the side of the man's temple.

"She obviously made copies. You should have the locks changed." He held his hands up in surrender as his boss hovered over him. "Henry. Look. You know I'd never…" Carl began to explain but Henry held his hand up to silence him.

Turning his back to the stage, effectively blocking Carl from view, he extended his right arm without a word, and sternly directed the cook back to the kitchen. Carl ducked his head and led the way. He liked his job. Liked the people. He didn't want to lose it.

Julia was in the kitchen with two teens from the youth center. They had come in the back door and already had a row of take-out tins spread on the counter ready to be filled. Seeing Carl and Henry's faces, she asked them to take the box on individually wrapped banana cupcakes to the car and wait there for a moment.

"What's going on?" Julia didn't like their looks.

Henry silently reached to a narrow shelf above the sink and turned on the small radio. A morning talk show was playing.

"Deena was here." His jaw clenched.

"I didn't let her in. I swear," Carl besieged. "I was…"

Henry held up his hand and took a step closer.

"Do not worry," he said quietly under the din of the talk show. "I know what she is like. And, I am not upset with you. I never thought that she had duplicated the keys. You are right. I should have changed the locks." He put his hands on his hips and wandered small circles in the tight space. "I did not tell you this before. I felt the fewer people who knew the safer everyone would be but I should have included you. Especially after last summer. That is my error." Carl's face relaxed but he was alert. "There are two surveillance cameras in the restaurant and a listening device in my office." Carl's brow furrowed. "Malachi has been watching… and listening. That is why I was stern out there." He tipped his head toward the door. "I am sure Deena's presence here was under his instructions and if she got in, I wonder what she has done and if she has given keys to anyone else. I do not trust her."

Julia took a breath, thinking. "If she had keys all along, and Malachi knew, you'd think that he would have used them instead of using Frank."

"Using Frank for what?" Carl was surprised, angry, and a little hurt at being left out. "Frank knew about the cameras?"

"Frank was asked to plant them but told me instead. He is on our side." Henry placed a reassuring hand on Carl's shoulder. "I should have told you. I am sorry for that."

Carl nodded, feeling a bit better.

xxxxxxx

" _Néá'eše_."

" _Néá'eše_." I repeated. "That's _thank you_ , right?"

"Ya," Jessie said from the passenger seat. Her twin, Joey, was in the back with a box of empty recycled lunch tins. "Try this one. _Hē'e_. It's short but you have to stress the first e."

" _Hē'e_ ," I repeated starting to chuckle. "You know, you guys are teaching me these words and for all I know I'll use them in a sentence one day only to find out they're the best swear words out there."

The three of us laughed.

"We wouldn't do that to you, Miss." Jessie's sincerity was broken by Joey's snort from the rear.

" _You_ might not," the fifteen-year-old chuckled under his breath.

"Okay, what does _hē'e_ mean?"

"Woman."

My brows drew together. "I thought _ve'hoe'ame_ meant woman _?_ "

Jessie shot me a shocked look. "Who called you that?"

"The first person? Yvonne. A few others have but not with the same tone. She says it jokingly. The others…not so much. I just ignored it."

"It means _white woman._ " Joey leaned forward between the bucket seats of my Escort. "An' it's usually an insult."

"Well, at least they didn't call you _mȧhatamááhe_ _._ " Jessie grinned.

"And that would mean…?" I warily gave her a sideways glance.

"Old woman." The kids burst into laughter as we turned onto the main road heading back toward the Red Pony.

"And here I thought Swahili was hard," I laughed.

"Hey. Cool car." Joey pointed between us to a gold sports car pulling out of the lane that led to Henry's house about a quarter mile ahead.

"What the…?" I could feel my jaw tighten, my fingers gripping tight on the steering wheel. I sped up but by the time we reached the lane, the Camaro was well ahead of us. I hit the brakes and skidded sideways taking a sharp turn toward the house, kicking up dust.

"I thought we were going to the Red Pony?" Joey protested as he was tossed around in the back seat.

I came to a screeching halt before the wide opening that consisted of our driveway and parking area. My eyes scanned for anything that would appear out of place, my temper growing with each moment.

"Stay in the car," I sharply ordered, opening my door, and standing to study the property.

Striding toward the house, I began a clockwise perimeter search. My ProLite was the first stop. I had put a special lock on it after Walt broke it two summers ago. A strong one, not your standard issue, and it looked like someone had tried unsuccessfully to jimmy it. Unlocking the narrow door, I stepped in. I had moved the electronic equipment and maps back into the house at the beginning of June but everything else seemed to be in place. Backing out, I continued the search. Off the back deck, the clothes I had put on the line that morning looked undisturbed. It was a hot day, and I had left a lot of the windows open in various rooms but the screens were locked from the inside. When I got to the front, Jessie and Joey were standing in front of the car, concerned but waiting. I carefully climbed the stairs to the porch and looked in the front window. Sugar was lying on her bed, on her side, head hanging over the cushion at an uncomfortable angle nearly touching the floor, her eyes closed. My heart sprang into my chest. She should have detected someone there. She should be alert, barking. She usually sensed when I came home and greeted me at the door. My head was light and I felt nauseous. _No, no, no, no, no, no…._

Fumbling with the key, I dropped it before finally getting it into the lock. By now, Jessie and Joey were running toward the house sensing something wrong. Fearfully swinging the door open, I took two steps into the house; hand still on the handle staring at my dog, expecting the worst. Then, lethargically, she lifted her head, tail lazily thumping on the cushion as if to say, _"You're home? I must have fallen asleep."_

Stepping further in, I dropped to my knees gathering my baffled dog into a hug. Relief was overwhelming.

"You okay, Miss?" Jessie quietly asked from the entrance.

I nodded, quickly wiping my eyes and getting to my feet. Sugar slowly rose beside me and stretched.

"I guess she's getting old. I just haven't realized."

Sugar stayed in the living room with the twins while I quickly searched the rest of the rooms. Nothing seemed disturbed and I knew that regardless of how old she was, Sugar would never have allowed a stranger into the empty house.

"You act like something's wrong." Joey was scratching Sugar's ears.

"That gold car. That person was at the Red Pony this morning. It's someone who wouldn't hesitate to cause trouble. Now, they're here... I was just making sure everything was alright."

"What kind of trouble?" Jessie asked as we exited the house.

Before I could answer, Joey pointed to the peak of the garage.

"Maybe something like that?" He pointed to a small black device attached to an electricity pole and directed toward the front porch.

xxxxxxx

We pulled into the parking lot round noon. There were a few cars and trucks already there but a gold sports car wasn't among them. I didn't think she'd show up. Not after this morning, but I was really hoping for a confrontation.

The restaurant was cool after the hot drive and the kids grabbed a table by the jukebox while I put Sugar in Henry's office, and called the kids' order into the kitchen. It was part of the deal. You help. You get lunch, too.

A few people had beaten the lunch crowd and were waiting for their orders as Kelly signaled hello from table nine.

I found Henry on his knees behind the counter restocking the beer fridge.

"Was everything okay here after I left?"

He put the last of the bottles on the metal shelf and stood, wiping his hands on a small white towel.

"Kelly and I gave a thorough search. There was no money in the till yet and all the inventory is accounted for. I do not understand why she came. Are you all right?" He saw my eyes flashing, anger still simmering below the surface."

"We had a visitor at the house while the kids and I were delivering the lunches."

"Oh? " He leaned back against the counter.

"Deena."

His surprise was obvious. "What did she want?"

"Good question. She was pulling out of the lane as we were approaching."

His eyes darkened and his jaw grew tight.

"I looked around. Circled the house. The camper lock has scratches that weren't there before. Looks like someone tried to get in, but nothing else seemed to be disturbed. But," my cheeks flushed with growing anger, "we did notice a new addition to the top of the garage."

His brow furrowed.

"A surveillance camera aimed at the front porch. I'm sure Deena didn't put it up there but this game is over. We need to confront Malachi with what we know or I give my friend with the thumb drive a call. This has gone on long enough."

Henry nodded. I could see his anger grow as well.

As we stood behind the counter with fuming emotions, Darius lumbered in and slid onto the stool at the corner of the bar.

We both eyed him suspiciously, and Henry moved to confront him. I put my hand on his arm holding him back, giving him a silent; _I'll take care of this_ look.

"Since when do you tend bar?" he asked as I approached.

"Since I need to speak with you." I automatically poured a Cold Mountain draft and placed it in front of him. He waited for me to continue. "Did you know that Deena was here this morning? When the place was still closed."

He slowly shook his head. "Maybe she wanted to see Henry. I hear they have history."

I placed my hand on his arm stopping him from taking his first sip. "Darius. There is a surveillance camera at our home. On top of the garage. Pointed at the front of the house. I know you do what Malachi tells you but I'm hoping you didn't do this. He's pushing his luck and he's going to bring you down with him. _This,_ this crosses the line. As for Deena, she wouldn't be here to see Henry. Not after the last time they saw each other. She went to our house, too. I want to know if she was sent. I meant what I said about protecting what's important to me. My home is very important. She tried to break into my camper. Now, why would she do that?"

He stared blankly at me and lifted his mug to his lips taking a long gulp. He suddenly gagged, jumping from the stool, the drink sloshing onto the counter.

Henry arrived quickly with a towel and the other customers' attention was drawn.

"Beer's bad," he flatly stated wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Henry grabbed a short glass and poured a draft from the same tap, taking a sip.

"Salt," he said. "I did not think to check the draft kegs." He tested each of the five taps, spitting the tainted liquid back out. "It is all bad." He threw the towel onto the counter scowling at Malachi's second. "Deena would have known how to do this."

Darius remained standing, his face impassive.

"Would Malachi have sent her to sabotage …?" I was unable to finish the thought.

He stared at us and hiked up his shoulders. Turning, he silently strode from the bar.

xxxxxxx

Malachi Strand and Jacob Nighthorse stood talking by the model of the casino in the center of the developer's large reception room. Work at the construction site was on schedule and Nighthorse expected the next phase to run just as smoothly.

Darius entered through the large glass doors and stood, waiting, his hands clasped obediently in front on him. When the two older men finished, the casino owner gave him a polite nod and returned to his office. Strand silently turned in the opposite direction, toward his own stark domain, presuming Darius would follow.

Pulling out the large captain's chair that was squeezed between the small desk and the wall, the large security officer eased himself into it, the chair groaning under his weight. Leaning back, he folded his hands across his expansive waist, eyeing Darius expectantly. No seat was offered to his minion.

"You are here without being called, it must be something important," the former Tribal Police Chief said.

"The camera at Standing Bear's house has been discovered," Darius began. "Deena went to the Red Pony and to Standing Bear's this morning. Was it on your instructions?"

Strand gazed intently at his associate. _So, the stupid bitch was playing games, was she?_ It had taken some convincing and he had paid her well to come back to Durant to resume her relationship with Henry. She had succeeded for a while, but the lure of the pool hall was too great and she kept diverting from her task. Then, that white woman arrived and Henry was lost. Deena kept trying but had failed miserably.

"Do they know about the others?" he questioned.

"I don't think so. I was there at lunch. Deena put salt in the draft kegs. They had searched the place for anything else she might have done but said nothing about cameras except for the one at the house."

Strand steepled his fingers at his lip and tapped, thinking. "What did they say about it?"

"It was Julia who spoke with me. She said you've _crossed the line_. She said that she is willing to protect what is important to her. She also claims that someone tried to get into that camper of hers. Scratches on the lock. They were new. She assumes it was Deena on your request."

"Well," Strand lowered his hands to the desk, "I did not send her. And her actions today have been reckless. She is unreliable and cannot be trusted." Darius waited for instructions. "Find her. Bring her to me. I won't let her petty vendetta interfere with the plan."

Darius gave a single nod, and stepped out of the room.

Strand sat there alone, thick fingers tapping heavily on the flat surface.

If Farine thought that he had broken the agreement, she would have already confronted him… wouldn't she _?_

He had always prided himself on his ability to intimidate people, to maintain his control. But, this one? She wouldn't be coerced. She was tough and he had no doubt that if she ever found out what he was doing, he'd be back in jail.


	10. Chapter 10 Enough

A/N - Surprise! I had an easy week. Enjoy.

Dani

 **10 – Enough**

Major Jim Maitland sat behind his desk in the Intelligence Office at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri. The S2 officer had two piles of paperwork stacked on each corner: the in-box on the left was considerably taller than the out-box on the right. He sighed. _Join the Army. See the world… through a mound of paper…_ Okay, in all fairness, he had done his time. Twenty years. Afghanistan and Iran mostly; but days like today, when he had a pile of mindless paperwork in front of him, well… it just wasn't in the job description.

He looked longingly at his computer on a separate table just a chair wheel away. He didn't even have to get up to access it. Just shift position and push. It was always on and the imposing entrance gate of the fort was his screen saver. Careen man. He shook his head. He wished it could be the serene desert scene he longed for.

With another sigh, he pulled the next file onto his blotter, startling when the phone near his right hand rang.

"Maitland," he answered sharply. The voice on the other end grabbed his attention, and a small smile grew on his lips.

xxxxxxx

The Community Center was empty. Construction debris lay strewn in a heap near the front door ready to be loaded onto pick-up trucks to be taken to the dump. Some of the material had been salvaged and recycled by anyone who wanted to take it but the rest was just trash. The work crew would be arriving within the hour: volunteers, both adults and teens, to begin the new addition to the building. It was an exciting project that had stirred another sense of community on the Rez.

Mathias arrived first parking his Ford Ranger out front. Walt arrived about five minutes later parking his Bronco in the back, out of sight. Inside, at the rectangular planning table in the center of the room, Henry sat with Julia, Frank and Tommy, waiting for the law to arrive. It had been a month since the cameras had been planted at the Red Pony but with the discovery of the one at the house, it was agreed that enough was enough. Something had to be done.

When everyone was settled, Henry snapped on a pair of latex gloves and began removing the three cameras and listening device from a paper bag by his feet placing them on the table in front of everyone. Walt and Mathias curiously watched. Henry had made sure that he and Frank had worn the gloves when they originally set the cameras to avoid putting their fingerprints on them.

The story was explained: from Frank and Tommy's disappearance in June to Frank being threatened and beaten by Darius, to Henry and Frank positioning the cameras and bug, and, subsequently, to the discovery of the third camera outside Henry's house.

Walt and Mathias listened, each formulating their own questions, but one was common – Why? Why was Strand so intent on having the Red Pony? Why was he so focused on Henry and Julia? It seemed to go beyond revenge.

Within twenty minutes, Frank and Tommy had told their story as well and Mathias promised to keep watch over Frank and his family. As for the Rez, he intended to keep his ears open for any talk of what Malachi was up to. Strand's tentacles were still deeply entrenched in the community, especially with those more zealous about their way of life: the Native American Brotherhood, otherwise known as the Go Red or Go Dead crew.

Walt agreed to start looking into Strand's more "legitimate" work in town and would take the devices to be checked for fingerprints.

Both lawmen had more questions but neither wanted to continue in front of Frank and Tommy. So, with the impression of ending the conversation, all rose and began to leave. Frank and Tommy would stay behind and wait for the other workers to arrive. Henry and Julia, Walt and Mathias headed for the doors. Mathias suddenly stopped, turning to the other three.

"This can't end here. There has to be more," he said under his breath.

Walt gave a half nod in a rare show of agreement.

Henry gave a slow, flat-handed swipe indicating to leave the subject alone for now, and lowly saying that they should meet again in an hour.

xxxxxxx

The whispered voices in the back room of the hall were further muted by the sound of hammers and saws.

"I don't get it. What do you mean?"

"I mean we have to keep watch. This guy is harassing Henry and Julia."

"That's silly. Why would anyone do that?"

"I don't know. But, my dad got beat up when he refused to go along. So, he pretended. Henry's been good to us. If it wasn't for him, I'd be in juvie. And, my dad would be out of work. And, Julia brought us all together. It was the two of them that got this youth group up and going, even with him in jail last summer. Even with her gone, I heard she was still working with Anita looking for people to run it. They're good people. We have to help."

"This isn't the same as helping Otis Foxworth or Gemma Light Night or even looking out for Maggie. Malachi Strand is bad news."

Six heads nodded vigorously, eager eyes bright.

"We've all heard the stories. But, like Julia says – we're stronger when we stand together. We keep our eyes open and our mouths shut to everyone but each other for now."

"And, what if we see something?"

"Then, we meet and talk and decide together."

"Unless it's an emergency."

"No, duh. Use your head. Be smart. We owe them."

xxxxxxx

Ferg was confused but was proficient with his task anyway. He swept the entire Sheriff's department looking for any electronic device that didn't belong while the rest of the staff curiously watched.

"Done," he finally said, putting the equipment away. "Nothing."

"What the hell was that all about?" Vic sputtered in astonishment rolling her hockey puck between her fingers while she lounged in her seat.

"Malachi Strand is playing games," Walt offered. "I don't want us to be a part of it." He turned to enter his office, then as if an afterthought, added to Ruby, "Mathias will be stopping by. Show him in when he does."

"Okay," she returned to her desk, puzzled, as Vic shrugged at her.

Half an hour later, Mathias arrived. Henry and Julia had arrived just a few moments before using Walt's private entrance and the four of them gathered around Walt's desk.

"Something tells me this didn't just start recently." Walt sat on the edge of his desk while Henry and Julia took the couch and Mathias stood by the chair.

"Where to begin," Henry sighed.

"Try the beginning, Standing Bear," Mathias quietly ordered.

Henry took Julia's hand onto his knee and held it for a moment. _Which beginning?_ he wondered. She shook her head reluctantly, squeezing his fingers.

"You remember how I warned you to keep your eyes open when I first got out of jail? That Malachi was up to something?" Henry began.

Mathias nodded. "It's been going on since last summer?" he asked incredulously, hands on hips turning in a half circle away from them for a moment.

Walt raised his hand in a calming manner. "Let's hear this out," he directed at the Tribal Police Chief, turning his attention back to his friend.

"Maybe I should explain," Julia interjected and began the story from Strand's original harassment of Henry at the Red Pony the year earlier, his offer to buy the place and the pressure that ensued. She took them through the discovery of the GPS tracker hidden in her car in Missouri with Darius Burn's fingerprints and blood on it, and the clandestine investigation for Walt's wife's murderer which led to the unexpected discovery of information regarding Malachi Strand's organization. All of the information was on a thumb drive which was safely stored with a confidential source. She explained about the deal she had made with Strand upon returning to Durant and that, up until recently, it seemed that he kept his end of it. She wondered what had changed.

Both lawmen listened intently until she was done.

"You realize you've just admitted to blackmail," Mathias stated.

"Yes," Julia acknowledged. "Strand's pockets are deep and his connections are wide spread. Everything from the common thugs to a couple of judges. He's dirtier than the Ganges River, but has the ability and connections to look legitimate. That's hard to stay safe from. We needed leverage to get him off our backs and to protect people we care about, and it worked."

"Yet, by doing this, you've allowed him to continue his operation," Walt added, not too pleased with what they'd done.

I have a contact who is still monitoring Strand's activities. On the surface, everything looks legal. There is nothing … yet… to hold him on or charge him with. We're telling you this now because we will be meeting with him soon. We want to know why he's targeting us now."

"What about Burns?" Mathias asked.

"I'm working on him. I'm good at reading people and… there's something there… I may be able to turn him."

Mathias snorted. "This isn't some spy movie."

"No, but that's how I work. It's part of _Knowing Your Enemy 101_ ," I smirked. "How do you get people to side with you? Talk with them. Work with them. Get them to see that your side is right or better. I didn't last as long as I did in my job without this skill. I have hope where Darius is concerned."

"Where is this thumb drive now?" Walt asked arms folded across his chest.

Julia shook her head. "I won't say. It's safe and instructions are clear. The last straw being: if anything happens to me it goes straight to the Director of the FBI."

"Does Malachi know this?" Walt asked.

Julia nodded. "There were very strict stipulations in our agreement. Henry and I even met with him in the winter about adjusting one of the terms. It gave him a bit more slack but it was a reasonable adjustment, one that made sense."

"You cut him more slack." Mathias leaned onto the chair, hitching his hip, his head shaking.

Julia nodded again. "It came after the car accident. That was also when my relationship with Darius changed. We were stuck together for a couple of days, remember? He was fair with me. The change was subtle but still something to work with."

Walt tipped his head in disbelief. "Well, good luck to you. The man's dangerous and has quite the rap sheet."

"I'm aware. I've read it and have a copy."

"So, what do we do now?" Mathias straightened.

"I do not think there is anything you can do at the moment. We wanted you to know what was going on in case anything… unexpected… happens." Henry sat with his hands loosely in his lap.

Mathias shook his head but agreed. "Okay. As far as I can see, there's harassment going on, invasion of privacy, but you guys are going to handle it. But," he jabbed a finger at the pair, "if it gets worse, I want to know immediately."

"That goes for me, too," Walt added.

Henry and Julia nodded in agreement.

xxxxxxx

The large glass door to Nighthorse's development office glared in the mid-afternoon sun. Henry and I sat in the Rezdawg watching. Nighthorse's sapphire blue Denali sat out front but Strand's black Explorer was not in sight. Patience was wearing thin and I began to fidget. Startling when a quick double knock sounded at the edge of my window, the body was lumbering away before I could react, but the message had been clear.

"He's parked in the back."

Pressing a satisfied smile together, I cast a look to my partner. "Shall we?"

"You trust him?"

"Trust has to start sometime, but just in case, be prepared."

We stepped out of the truck, looked both ways as a couple of cars passed, then crossed the street to the modern building. Pushing the door open, Henry let me enter first. Jacob was in the lobby speaking with his secretary and was surprised by our visit. Ever the suave business man, a smile appeared on his face and he strode to us, hand extended in a pleasant greeting.

"Henry. Julia. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Henry shook Jacob's hand returning a cautious smile. "We are here to speak with Malachi. I hope he is not too busy," Henry replied casually.

"Hmm," Jacob thought, a bit suspicious. "I don't know. Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but we have something to return to him. He made need this." Henry shifted the bag he was carrying.

"Oh," he seemed genuinely surprised. "Sylvie," he called to his secretary. "Is Mr. Strand in his office?"

"Yes, Sir. I haven't seen him leave."

"Come then. I'll take you back."

I shot Henry a questioning look. Did Nighthorse know about the cameras? If so, that put a whole new twist on things. If not, should we confront Strand in front of him? Strand did tell him about the original agreement.

We didn't have the chance to make the decision as Jacob knocked on Malachi's door and opened it before a reply.

"Malachi, you have visitors," Jacob announced as he stepped in.

The large security officer was sitting behind his desk, leaning on his arms, reading a document in front of him. His head rose and eyes narrowed when he saw us standing in the doorway. He was expressionless as Henry repositioned the paper bag in his arms. There was silence as they glared at each other.

"Henry had something to return to you." Jacob motioned to the bag.

"These were left at the Red Pony and at my home." Henry watched as Malachi's eyes shift between him, the bag, his boss, and Julia. "Would you like to see?"

When he didn't get an answer, Henry stepped forward and dumped the contents onto Malachi's desk, black powder spilling onto the light surface, miniature black surveillance equipment tumbling onto his blotter.

"What's this? This isn't mine," Malachi protested pushing back.

"Your fingerprints are on them as are Mica Dullknife's and Darius Burn's, depending on which item you refer to. Be careful of that powder," I warned. "It's a pain to get off." Stepped forward, I took a defensive stance in front of his desk. "I only hope that these are the only ones out there. This was a clear violation of our agreement, Mr. Strand. Now, seeing as how you made Mr. Nighthorse privy to our original conversation last summer, would you like to continue this conversation in his presence?"

Malachi's chin rose arrogantly. "If you have such clear proof that I've done this, why haven't you gone to the police?"

"That's where the fingerprint powder came from. And, the ID on the three of you."

"So? What are you going to do?" He inhaled, chin rising further.

I could feel Henry boil beside me and put my hand calmly on his wrist. "We have bigger fish to fry, Mr. Strand." My lip curled up menacingly. "We simply would just like to know why?"

"And by answering that, I would be confessing to what you are accusing me of."

I stepped to the desk, knuckles down, leaning close. "I have already made a phone call, Mr. Strand. You have broken our agreement."

"Make all the threats you like." He sat back, arms crossed, smirking. "Nothing can touch me."

I stood, returning the smirk. "Don't be so sure of that. Judge Thornton can't help you anymore. As we speak, his home and office is being searched by the FBI."

Malachi visibly reacted but inhaled to retain his composure.

"He's just one. The first," I continued, "But, I have a list of the others. One by one, Mr. Strand, they will come tumbling down, and all roads of their fall will lead back to you. You will not be so safe then. Now, what is it about the Red Pony that you are so desperate to have?"

xxxxxxx

"Remind me not to get on your bad side. You are dangerous." Henry shook his head as we drove away from Nighthorse's office.

"I made myself very clear at each step. I will fight to protect what is important to me. It looks like Jacob didn't know. He didn't seem pleased. I'd love to be a fly on the wall to hear that conversation." I grinned.

"Is the FBI really searching Judge Thornton's?"

"Yes," I nodded. "It wasn't a play I wanted to make but when dealing with a man like Malachi; you have to be ready to carry through on your warnings. If Malachi wants to play hard ball, then so will I. You can't show fear with a man like him."

xxxxxxx

The dusty landline rang on the rickety little end table in a shack on the far side of the Rez. The Indian slumped in the thread bare armchair put his beer bottle down and reached for it.

When he heard the voice on the other end, his lips curled into a spiteful sneer. With a humorless chuckle, he replied, "It will be my pleasure."


	11. Chapter 11 Stand By Me

**11 – Stand By Me**

It was hot. High 80s. The sun had an unobstructed path to the earth. Not a cloud in the sky. Even the birds took refuge from the mid-afternoon heat.

Walt sat on his balcony, slouched in the bentwood chair, neck of his long sleeve denim shirt open, sleeves rolled to the elbows, boot perched on the railing. He had a cold Rainer in hand, taking a moment to breath before the onslaught of rodeo chasers descended upon the town in the next few days. Ethan had already informed him that Red River State Park had a long list of reservations and some had already begun to arrive. Norm at the Lone Pine Motel on highway 25, a favorite for rodeo groupies, said he was booked solid for the following week. The administration for the rodeo had measured off a section of the grounds for the makeshift village that would form by the competitors and vendors who chose to stay close to the action. They would arrive in RVs and campers, horse trailers or merchants' wagons in tow. The grounds were southeast of Durant. Just far enough out of town to keep the peace… sort of… but close enough to reap the benefits of tourist revenue. And, it was close enough to the highway to make a direct route to The Red Pony. That could be both a blessing and a curse.

Walt took a slow sip from the can and turned his head to the rest of the house. Someday he'd finish it but for now, it suited his needs. Scanning back to the road, his lips quirked up at the familiar bottle green pick-up heading toward him. It crossed onto the dirt lane, kicking up dust and coming to a halt in front of the cabin.

"Ruby told me you would be here," Henry announced as he swung from the truck. "I brought my tools in the hope that you would be working on the house. My mistake." He grinned holding up his other offering. "But, I did bring refreshments."

Walt smiled and held up his own. "Got one already."

Henry climbed the spilt-log stairs and sat on the balcony, long legs stretched between the support pillars. He pulled a frosty can from the plastic rings and popped the top taking a long drink.

"How'd you keep it cold?" Walt quietly asked.

Henry smirked. "Cooler in the front seat." There was a comfortable pause between friends as Henry leaned his head against the post. "It is nice to take a break."

Walt nodded slowly. "Bar's busy?" he asked after a few minutes. Henry nodded. "No more trouble? Deena. Malachi. Burns."

Henry shook his head slowly. "I have not seen Deena since her visit. She has probably moved on to annoy someone else. Malachi and Darius have kept their distance since we spoke." He shook his head, thinking. "I wonder if Jacob knows of all of his security officer's transgressions. I would think he has to know at least some of them."

Walt inhaled. Jacob was a sore spot for him. The two men clashed like a seasoned rider on an ornery bull.

"He must. Can't see him not." Walt took another pull of beer tamping down his temper.

There was another comfortable silence while each fidgeted with their can. Finally, Henry spoke up again.

"I am getting married in a couple of weeks." His tone was flat.

Walt lifted his head, nodding slightly. "Yes, you are. Got the invitation."

"I never thought I would ever get married."

Walt suppressed a smirk trying to hide it. "I never thought you would either."

"She is an amazing woman."

"Yes, she is. You're a lucky man."

Henry nodded absently. "Will you stand with me? Be my best man?"

Walt inhaled deeply, his lips spreading into a smile. "You bet." He paused again. "Why a Tuesday?"

Henry gazed across the vast flat land. He had tried to get Julia to change the date but understood its meaning. "It is not so much the day as the date. It is the date she was shot. She wants to replace bad memories with good."

Walt nodded in understanding. Julia had almost died on that day three years ago, half a world away. She had confided to him once that coming to Wyoming was like being reborn. She'd been given new life.

He gave a single nod of acceptance. "Sounds good. I'll be there."

xxxxxxx

The sweet healing warmth of Maheo reached through the sun to stroke my stiff body. I laid on a blanket on the back deck, face down, top off, sport shorts pulled up to expose as much skin as possible. I knew I had to limit my exposure, just like in Kenya. The savannah rays would burn if I wasn't careful. But, the heat loosened tight muscles, helped soothe old wounds. I dozed, I-pod plugged into my ears, blissfully listening to a country mix Henry had put together for me. Sugar had opted for a shady spot by the back door.

Earlier in the day, I had met with Yvonne at her small house. Layla and Marcus were going to be part of the wedding procession and were thrilled to be wearing their Native costumes. They looked so cute, but inside, I was bothered. It was two weeks away, and I still hadn't picked a maid of honor. It was a difficult decision. Samantha was the first female to befriend me when I came to Durant and we maintained that friendship. Kelly and I had become close since the beginning too, and now with her relationship with Tom, we had become even closer. Yvonne, being Henry's sister, was an obvious choice as she had become like my sister, too. I couldn't decide without hurting someone. In all honesty, I kind of wanted Tom to be my man of honor, but he wasn't even sure if he could make it. He was leaving on a training mission at the end of the week and wasn't due back until the beginning of September. It hurt but I understood. It had always been the nature of our jobs to be absent from something or other.

I sighed and shifted position. The ceremony itself would be simple. Done our way. Native and traditional elements. A blend of both worlds. Just like us.

The ground rumbled and I smiled. Henry must be back. He had gone to Walt's this afternoon to ask him to be his best man. Procrastination was not in our nature but for this... we both seemed to wait until the last minute. I don't know why. _Well, at least Walt as best man was a no-brainer_ , I chuckled.

Sugar raised her head, a low growl rumbling from deep in her throat. I pulled one earplug out, puzzled, and turned my head toward her as she deliberately rose to her feet, teeth bared, snarling, but holding her ground.

I quickly shifted, pulling a tank top over my head just in time to see a tall Indian step onto the deck.

"Sugar. Stand down," I quietly instructed, holding my hand protectively out to her as I got to my feet. My chin rose defiantly pushing the fear down. "It's been a long time. What are you doing here?"

Mica Dullknife stepped closer. He had seen the tattoo on her shoulder, the symbol of the work she had done. He had seen the scars on her back and leg, and now, as she stood before him, the line on her chest and hole in her shoulder. His lips curled menacingly. Weak spots should he need them. "You have something I want."

"Really, and what would that be?"

He snarled. "Malachi wants that thumb drive."

"Ahh," I nodded knowingly, "So it's something _he_ wants. I told Mr. Strand and Mr. Burns, now I'll tell you. I do not have the thumb drive. I'd be foolish to keep it here."

Mica slowly pulled a six-inch bone-handled hunting knife from the leather sheath on his belt rolling it methodically in his hand, a silent threat. Sugar snarled taking a protective step forward.

"Sugar. Back," I cautioned eyes on the knife.

Mica chuckled darkly. "Then, you're gonna call whoever has it and have them bring it here."

"I can't do that. It's not even in the state."

"It's with that soldier boy, is it?" he snorted. "I've heard of him. Well, then, you'd better call him and tell him to get his ass in gear 'cuz I'm not going to have any trouble cutting you into pieces if he doesn't hurry."

"Malachi knows that if anything happens to me the drive goes straight to the FBI. Did he tell you that? You're going to take the fall, not him. He's using you."

"He's paying me."

Mica lunged; I dodged but caught the tip of the knife across my left bicep. Blood quickly spilled down my arm to my fingertips. Sugar leapt for his wrist, teeth latching on, but was flung off the deck and onto the ground. Rolling, she was back on her feet charging again. As Mica turned to face her attack, knife at the ready, I hit him across the back with one of the small patio tables, shattering it like brittle kindling. He was like an angry grizzly, rearing and turning on me. His roar sent shivers down my spine, and Sugar ran around him placing herself between him and me.

"Sugar. Come. In," I quickly ordered, grabbing the back door, the two of us rushing into the relative safety of the kitchen.

Mica snatched the edge before I could close and lock it, ripping it from my hand, nearly tearing it from the hinges. His strength was abnormal, and I wondered what he could possibly be on. His left hand grabbed my injured arm but the blood made it slippery, and he lost grip as Sugar lunged again. Breaking free, I ran through the living room to the desk by the front door. Hearing Sugar snap then yelp, I spun, panicked for my dog as a horrifying thud hit the kitchen wall. I could see Mica towering over the counter, a glazed look on his downcast face. I yelled at him and threw the closest thing I could lay my hands on: a rock paperweight I had picked up on a walk one day. It bounced off his shoulder, drawing his attention as I dashed out the front and down the stairs, the gravel drive biting into my bare feet.

He followed, the screen door slamming open against the outer wall of the house. My attacker ominously stood at the top of the stairs breathing heavily before taking the two strides down in my direction.

"Hold it right there." The command was fierce as I held my Glock 9mm in outstretched arms, a practiced don't-mess-with-me stance. I stood in the middle of the driveway tempting him into the blinding light.

He laughed, arrogantly dismissing my command, continuing forward. I fired taking a chunk from his left leg.

His stunned expression turned to fury as he unrelentingly advanced as if nothing had happened. I fired again striking his right arm making him drop the knife. He stumbled, growled, but still kept coming.

"Stop," I ordered, "Or the next shot will be…"

Suddenly, from behind, a thick arm wrapped around his throat, a choke hold that he fought but rendered him unconscious in seconds. He was carefully lowered to the ground, and I stared at my saviour.

"Are you hurt?" Darius asked. I shook my head but the reality was dripping from my fingertips.

"Sugar. I have to see Sugar." I started forward but he caught my right arm, holding me back.

"She's alive but needs help. So do you. So does he." Darius tipped his head toward Mica. "Call 911. I can't be here."

"Malachi sent him to get the thumb drive. I don't have it. I told you guys that." My brain was turning to fog.

Darius nodded. "You'd be stupid to keep it here. And, you're not stupid. Call 911. I have to go."

"Why did you come here?"

"He belongs in jail." Darius pointed to the unconscious man. "Call 911. I wasn't here. Understand?" he insisted then quickly strode across the prairie toward his waiting car about a half mile away.

xxxxxxx

Three trucks screamed down the highway from opposite directions: two with lights flashing, one following close behind. They pulled into the drive almost at the same time, the Rezdawg skidding to a halt, the driver's door opening almost before it fully stopped. Henry was out and running to the house, passing Mica slumped on the ground, taking the steps three at a time.

"Julia!" he frantically called seeing the blood trail.

"In here," I replied from the kitchen.

Henry turned at the counter nearly tripping over us. I sat cross-legged on the floor stroking Sugar's head as she struggled to breath, a dish towel wrapped around my bloodied arm.

"She needs help. I think her ribs are broken." I struggled to keep my voice steady as tears streamed down my cheeks.

Henry knelt, gathering me into his arms. "An ambulance is on the way."

"They won't take a dog. She needs a vet. Mica… he threw her. I don't know what else he did to her. I got the gun. Lured him outside. I shot him. Tied him up. Fixed his wounds. She's hurt bad. He wanted… God. I shot him." I knew I was babbling and tried to stop. Taking a deep breath, I firmly said, "Sugar needs a vet NOW!"

"I take it he wanted the thumb drive?" Walt asked as he finally entered the house. "That's one valuable piece of information."

I nodded as Henry collected a blanket from the sofa.

"Grab an end." He tossed part to Walt. They lay it on the floor next to Sugar and gently lifted her onto it. Together they carried her to Walt's truck, opened the hatch and slid her in. I climbed in beside her before the men could say anything.

"Mathias. You taking him in?" Walt called signalling to Mica who was now sitting on the grass in handcuffs.

"Indian on the Rez. Ya, he's mine. I need her statement." He pointed to me in the back.

"I'll take it. Right now we're going to Doc Moser's. Dog needs help."

Mathias gave a short nod as the Sheriff's truck pulled out and the ambulance arrived.

"You'd best hope that dog survives," he warned Mica. "I hear she's a war hero and I think Julia would probably rip you apart if she dies."

xxxxxxx

I was shaking and pale by the time we got to Doc Moser's office. Walt had called Ruby and she had alerted the vet of our impending arrival. He and an assistant were waiting outside with a small gurney when we arrived minutes later, and immediately took over, loading Sugar onto it, and rushing her into the hospital.

We followed, my eyes never leaving my partner until the examining room door closed. Walt spoke with the receptionist and we were lead to a vacant examining room in the back. It was crowded with the three of us in it, but Walt pulled out a black padded chair and told me to sit while another vet came to stitch my arm.

"I need to know what happened out there," he said when the vet left.

There wasn't much to say. Mica arrived, demanded, threatened, assaulted, and I shot him in self-defence.

"You could have killed him," Walt stated, leaning against the metal examining table.

"Could have. Yes. Didn't. I told him to stop. He didn't. I shot his leg. He threatened me with the knife. I shot his arm. He dropped the knife, lost his balance and fell. I jumped on him and choked him until …" I paused. I couldn't lie. Not to Walt. Not to Henry. I shook my head. "Darius saved me. He kept saying he couldn't be there. He was adamant. I almost lied for him. I can't do that. Whatever he's done, he saved my life, but I can't lie for him."

"Darius?" Both men were surprised.

Walt took my full statement and left. He needed to speak with Mathias and hopefully the Tribal Police Chief would allow him to talk with Mica.

Henry went with him to get the Rezdawg while I waited for news.

Time passed slowly. Henry returned and finally an attendant came out to bring us into another small room. Doc Moser sat behind his desk, folders and papers seemingly scattered haphazardly over the top. I sat while Henry stood behind me. The Doc pressed his lips together, a serious expression that had me gulp down the fear. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, placing the glasses on top of the papers.

"Hell of a dog you have there. How old is she?"

"She's okay then? She survived?" I wanted to cry and felt Henry's hand on my shoulder.

"She's weak. Broken ribs. Concussion. Bruises. She's an old dog. It's going to take some time and she may never recover fully. She'll stay here at least overnight. I want to keep an eye on her."

"Can I stay with her?"

He shook his head slightly. "I can't do that. If I let every owner stay with their pet… I don't have the facility for that."

"She's not just a pet. She's my partner," I explained to his raised brows. "Sugar is a service dog. A veteran. She protected me, wouldn't leave me. I can't leave her."

The Doc nodded slowly. "I'll see what I can do."

xxxxxxx

It was a long night. I sent Henry home, no need for both of us to stay, but he returned with dinner, a pillow and blanket. Sugar was sedated and we sat on the floor outside her cage nibbling on an all-dressed pizza. I wasn't really hungry, though.

Doc Moser stayed as well. He had a cot in the back by his office and had offered it to me but I refused to leave my dog.

Henry and I sat with our backs against the wall, silent, waiting. At about midnight, I stretched out on the floor in front of Sugar's cage, fingers through the bars, touching her cheek, crying softly and whispering encouragement. I felt Henry's hand on my shoulder, and at some point, I fell asleep.

I dreamt of the losses I had had in my life: my parents, my husband, daughter, friends, colleagues, those I had tried to help in the course of my job. I had given up making connections, getting close. It hurt too much. And then, I met Sugar. The dog I didn't really want but somehow needed more than I thought. She had become my partner, my support, my friend, and my saviour. That unconditional love from another wounded soul. She taught me that it was okay to open up, to let others in. That she would always stand by me. And, that led to where I was now.

My fingers unconsciously moved through the bars, stroking my hero.

The dream continued. Sugar and I were at the edge of a pond in the middle of a desert, sun beaming high in the sky. A lion drank from the other side then lifted its majestic head. We sat watching each other. Unmoving. My heart hit hard in my chest. My throat tightened. Kuru. Tears began again, slowly, and I drew my fingers up to wipe them away.

My eyes fluttered. Wet. My fingers were wet.

Struggling to grasp the notion, my fingers were still through the cage bars. They felt warm and wet again.

Sugar.

Her eyes open and watching; her tongue licking my hand.

She was awake!


	12. Chapter 12 A Darker Shade of Red

**12 – A Darker Shade of Red**

"Careful. Careful," I worried as Henry gently lifted Sugar from the back of the pick-up placing her on the ground outside the house. She stood, wobbly for a moment, then slowly began an easy pace to her little pee patch on the right. She would have to be lifted again to get up the stairs and it stirred both sympathy and anger in me to see her weakened.

Shortly after noon, after a thorough check by Doc Moser, we were finally allowed to take her home. She seemed to have braved her injuries valiantly. Nothing could be done about the cracked ribs but keep her relatively still, and he had prescribed her pain killers. She was stiff, obviously sore, but was happy to be out of the cage.

A familiar white Ford Ranger was parked in the yard, nose in to the left of the stairs, almost in my wolf willows. Mathias stood on the porch, hands on his hips, waiting, watching Sugar gingerly move toward home. He shook his head as he stepped down into the dirt.

"You know, I warned Mica if anything happened to that dog, you'd come after him," he began as a greeting.

"Smart man." I cradled Sugar's bag of medication in my good arm and smiled at the Tribal Police Chief.

"You okay?" He jutted his chin in my direction. "He sliced you pretty good. I take it you're going to pressing charges again."

I snorted contemptuously, stopping a couple of feet away. "Yes. And, this time, he better stay behind bars."

Mathias gave a single nod. "Malachi has already tried to get him out." Henry spun to the officer, his jaw tightening, invisible steam streaming from his ears. Mathias raised his hand, calming. "I'm not turning him loose. Malachi made his threats, but I'll follow the law. Dullknife will stay locked up. He's been in trouble too many times. Broke probation. Bail hearing is set for Thursday and this being his second attempt on you, I doubt bail will be granted. Malachi won't be happy. Losing a foot soldier." His brow furrowed. "I got a strange phone call this morning, though, from the federal office in Denver, telling me to hold on to Dullknife. Something about a problem with the courts? I didn't understand and they didn't explain."

I nodded. "The FBI has Judge Thornton from the Tri-State criminal court under investigation at the moment. Taking bribes. They're probably doing a little more research into how many others might be on Strand's payroll."

Mathias raised a single brow. "You gave them that information? No wonder Mica came after you."

I shrugged. "After we found the surveillance equipment here at the house, I made a call. We met with Strand, in his office, in Jacob Nighthorse's presence. Gave it all back to him. Nighthorse knows at least some of what's going on. Malachi told him last summer. I'm just really surprised it went this far. I think Strand was relying on Dullknife's bad history with me. Maybe he was willing to let him take the fall then claim ignorance."

"Then why would he come to bail him out?"

I shrugged again but Henry had a theory. "Go red or go dead," he repeated the motto drilled into him during his time in jail. "Blood is thick and the brotherhood sticks together. They made contact while in prison, and Malachi will use him for as long as he can. By showing his support, trying to get him out, he keeps the relationship strong. But, Malachi would have no trouble turning on an ally if he needed to. He would do it in a way that diverted the attention elsewhere. Possibly in our direction."

Mathias inhaled deeply at the realization of the extent of corruption. "Who else is involved?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"That file you have. How many more names on it?"

I shook my head. "Knowledge is not always a good thing. Right now, I would say, the less you know, the safer you are. I don't want you or your family hurt because of this. Malachi is arrogant and that makes him predictable. It's something to watch. It could make him slip up."

Mathias nodded and headed for his truck. "I'll need you to come by later to sign the formal complaint. The sooner the better." He pulled the driver's door open and swung in, putting the truck in gear and pulling out careful not to stir up the dry summer terrain.

xxxxxxx

The dust trail was the first thing I saw. Then, a dark brown sedan emerged and slowed at the lane, turning and stopping in front of the house. My gut twisted with the memory of the last time I saw a car like this. FBI. Last spring. They had a search warrant then. I wondered what was up their sleeve now.

Sugar raised her head from her stretched position at my side and tried to get up, but I gently put my hand on her back to keep her still, a quiet assurance. My legs were stretched across the top step of the porch blocking her from view, my back against the four-by-four support post, as I watch two men get out of the car.

"Ms. Farine?" The older one called flashing his badge as he approached. He looked to be about my age. Stocky, solid, with worn creases around his eyes. The other looked in his early thirties… maybe. Tall, wiry build. Dark hair slicked-back. Their matching dark grey suits could have been purchased at the same store but the ties were a decade of difference. A wide two-tone brown stripe for senior verses a thinner solid red for junior.

I gave a single nod turning my legs to the next step down, my hand not leaving Sugar's back.

"How may I help you?"

I recognized him. The older one. A man not to be forgotten. He had led the search of Henry's house last year.

"We would like to talk with you regarding an incident that happened earlier this week." He stopped at the foot of the stairs. He had tucked the credentials back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, arms hung loosely at his sides.

"Agent Carlyle." My lips curled up diplomatically. "We meet again."

He returned with a half-smile, almost sheepish. "Just doing my job, Ma'am." Acknowledging that I had been angry and stood my ground with the searchers who had rifled through the contents of my home.

I nodded again. "A tough job that could be made a little easier with a little diplomacy. What about the incident this week? Is Mica Dullknife on your radar for something?"

The agents hadn't advanced and I hadn't moved from my spot. I wanted to see how assertive they would be.

"Only after this incident with you. You have been on our radar," he clarified with a casual finger point.

"Me? Really?" I was genuinely surprised. "Why?"

"The research you did on one Malachi Strand last year. You used a variety of contacts: military, government, private, but the nature of the information eventually led back to you." He paused, the sun beaming over the house and into his eyes.

"Come on up, gentlemen." I finally rose, my legs creaking with the change of position. I told Sugar to stay as the men moved past her and onto the porch. Politely offering a seat on the swing, I took one end. "So," I began, getting comfortable. "Yes, I stumbled onto Mr. Strand's activities last summer after my fiancé was arrested for a crime he did not commit. There were several issues going on at the time. The sheriff's wife was murdered a couple of years ago and, although the murderer had subsequently been killed, the man who put the contract on her was not found. Still has not been found," I pointed out. "After Henry's arrest, I left the state and was tracked. Fearing for my safety, I began investigating who may have planted the GPS that was found in…"

"We know all that," Agent Carlyle impatiently interrupted with a wave of his hand. He sighed heavily, then paused. "We've come here on a different matter." My brows rose. "We need you to stop threatening Mr. Strand."

My eyes widened in surprise. Were they on his payroll, too?

"Excuse me?"

"Ms. Farine," the senior agent paced his words, "we are here to inform you that you are to stop harassing Mr. Strand."

I was in shock.

"Agent Carlyle." I took a deep breath tamping down the rising anger. "Malachi Strand used intimidation and initiated threats against Henry Standing Bear and me a year ago. He hired Darius Burns and Mica Dullknife to carry out those threats. His harassment of us stopped for a period of time but has begun again. It is within our rights to protect ourselves. So, if you are asking us to stop, do you intend to keep us safe?" There was silence. "I didn't think so."

"You realize that you can be arrested for blackmail on this issue?" The younger agent broke his silence. "You have an impressive reputation, Ms. Farine. Would you risk that?"

"Is that a threat?" I leaned back, elbow casually draped over the back of the swing, gazing at the dispassionate men before me. "Agent Carlyle." My gaze drifted back to the man in charge. "I am well aware of what I've done. If I felt I had any other option, I would have taken it. It was not my intent to find out about Mr. Strand's business. I just wanted to know who had planted the GPS in my car. Discovering it was Darius Burns led me the rest of the way. The unauthorized tracking of a UN peace officer was a violation of my privacy and security. I was within my rights to do something about it."

"But, you didn't stop there. You used the information to…"

"Keep us safe against his intimidation." I leaned forward. "You say you've investigated Malachi Strand, therefore you know about his operation. His infiltration at business and political levels is extensive. The man doesn't get his own hands dirty. He hires people. But, if you're investigating, you would know this." My anger was rising again and Sugar watched us carefully. "Do you intend to arrest me?" I asked incredulously.

"No, Ma'am," Agent Carlyle relented. "But, we need you to stop." He paused considering his next words. "What I say must go no further than you. Not even to your fiancé. Is that understood?" I nodded. "Once the information on Judge Thornton was revealed, an operation that has been in effect for several years was compromised. If you continue, everything that we have worked toward would be corrupted. People will get away."

"Operation? Compromised?" Then it hit me. "You have someone on the inside. Years? That would be deep cover." I'd heard of situations like this before. I understood certain areas of law enforcement used them. But, this was Durant, Wyoming, not New York City or Los Angeles.

The corner of his left eye twitched. A tell.

"You were never in danger with the GPS. And your subsequent investigation, although watched, was not red-flagged until Judge Thornton. This triggered investigations by other departments into several other judges, lawyers, politicians."

I nodded waiting for more.

"We backtracked through your investigation and discovered that you had made some connections that we had not. They are presently being analysed."

"So, my investigations compromised your operation. I would think that with more information, you would be able to catch him faster. And, if Strand is being watched, and you have someone inside, how could you have allowed him to attack me?"

Carlyle rubbed his dry lips together, put his hands on his knees, and the two men rose, adding no more.

"Will Mica Dullknife get out?" I asked rising with them.

The lead agent shook his head. "No. We have vetted a few judges in Tri-State that would be favorable to your case. I'm not a lawyer, but this is his second attack on you. It should be okay?"

"So, if I lay off, what happens to Strand?"

We're working on it."

Somehow, I wasn't completely reassured.

xxxxxxx

The desk phone went flying across the room and hit the wall by the door with a resounding crash, taking a chunk out of the white plaster.

Malachi fumed, one hand on his waist while the other wiped angry spittle from his chin. _Incompetents!_ he thought. _Someone would pay._

The door to his office eased opened and Jacob stepped in looking at the damage to the wall and then to his security officer.

"You have frightened the secretary." His demeanour was calm and cool. "Is everything alright?"

Malachi glared at him. "Does it look alright?" he snarled to Jacob's raised brow.

With a heavy sigh, the large man walked around his desk and landed in the chair, elbow on the rest, fingers of his right hand worrying his lips. "I have some things to work out," he finally muttered.

Jacob gave a single nod. "It is none of my concern, but a little advice. It is not like you to let your feelings become an obsession. I fear that this situation is doing just that. You must think, _is it worth it_?"

Malachi kept his fingers by his mouth but raised his eyes to his boss saying nothing.

The two men stared at each other for a moment before Jacob turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Malachi sat for a few more moments, thinking.

 _Was it worth it?_ Damn right, it was worth it. He wouldn't be so upset it if wasn't worth it. But, there was always a way. He placed his hands palms down on the top of the desk, fingers spread, stretching his arms, straightening his back, inhaling deeply. Thinking.

Rising, he picked the phone off the floor and replaced it to the corner of his desk. Returning to his seat, he stared at it for a moment before lifting the receiver and dialing. He waited. After five rings, it was finally answered.

"We need to meet." He paused and listened. "What do you mean, _No_?"

After a moment of listening, Strand's launched the phone across the room to the wall again leaving another dent. He washed his face with his hands, slowly regaining his composure.

"Like hell you're out," he muttered.


	13. Chapter 13 Chaos and Tears

**13 - Chaos and Tears**

The Red Pony was her job.

Kelly had hired a couple of older teens from the youth group to help clean and prepare: washing the floor and counters, moving and setting the tables, hanging steamers and other decorations, setting up the stage equipment for the band that would play later that afternoon. She had borrowed white linen table clothes and napkins from her uncle's hotel and restaurant supply dealership and had found a box of colourful, cut-glass, globe candle holders in the storage room just off the kitchen. She remembered them as centerpieces from years ago when she first began at the Red Pony and asked a couple of the kids to scrub them down. With the soot and age removed and a candle glowing inside, they fashioned beautiful rainbows across the white surface of the tables.

When the hall was finished, she stood back, hands on hips, admiring the scene. With all that had happened these past few weeks, she was pleased and proud that Henry had left this task to her. It was going to be a great event.

"Carl," she called, heading to the kitchen, "I'm leaving soon. Can I do anything for you before I go? Are you going to be okay?"

The cook lifted his head as Kelly entered his domain. "I'm fine. This is the last one." He covered the tray he had been working on with plastic wrap and slid it onto a shelf in the large fridge. Removing the apron that covered the only black dress pants he owned, he added. "I think I'll head out, too. Not much else to do at the moment but fret." He looked at his watch, grinned. "Almost time anyway."

They walked into the restaurant together and he whistled lowly.

"Nice job, Kells," he praised.

xxxxxxx

"No, no, no. Rows of eight on each side. The aisle has to be wider," Samantha directed a handful of volunteers. "Somebody catch those feathers! They're getting away!" She raced to grab the ribbon of flowers and feathers that the wind had snatched from the support posts of the wooden arch that had been erected at the edge of the ridge.

The venue was her job.

Medicine Lodge often hosted events, so with help of some Lodge staff, she transported the black, plastic, stackable chairs and an arch made of plain wooden poles to the desert ridge that overlooked a barren valley. She didn't quite understand the significance of the location. It was a desolate scene, rock and dust, the ground was uneven, but somehow it exuded a sense of peace. Julia called it "her spot". Her small piece of Kenya. And, Samantha guessed, that's all that really mattered. It was mid-morning, and with the sun rising in the east, directly in front of the ridge, the rays shone through the arch to the woven straw mat that they would stand on. She stood considering the effect. It was actually very pretty… in a simple sort of way.

"Here." Ethan pushed a staple gun into her hand. "Use this." He held the pole steady while Samantha used a small step ladder to climb up and fasten the ribbons, feathers, flowers and tulle back into place. The poles were visible beneath the modest decorations. _One with nature_ , she thought. _Perfect._

"It really shouldn't be this hard," she puffed placing a hand on his shoulder as she stepped back down.

"But, it is beautiful." Ethan wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close and kissing her cheek as her eyes searched for any imperfections. "You did a great job."

"I was afraid the forest fire at Big Rock was going to turn the air yellow, but look," she grinned motioning to the bright blue sky, "it's perfect."

"That rain we had last night helped extinguish most of the hot spots and tamped down a lot of the dust and ash. Cleared the air pretty good. Looks to me like even Mother Nature knows the importance of today."

Samantha turned to him. She had been worried that he might not make it. Forest fires had plagued much of the west from Alberta and Saskatchewan in Canada to Colorado and all provinces and states west. She wrapped her arms around his neck appreciating his presence.

"Ya." She smiled sweetly, her auburn hair blowing across her face. Pushing it out of the way, she gave him a peck on the lips, then playfully shoved him back. "You're a distraction," she laughed. "I still have work to do."

xxxxxxx

"MOM!" Layla yelled from the dusty front yard. "Marcus won't stop running around! He's going to get all dirty!"

Yvonne poked her head out the screen door of her small house. She had just gotten out of the shower, her straight black hair towel dried, pink cotton bathroom tied tightly at her small waist.

"Marcus! Do you want to take another bath?" She called to her wild son. He stopped dead in his tracks, a horrified look on his round face. "If you keep that up, you'll have to start all over again, and then we'll be late. Is that what you want?" It was a warning that brokered an instant response.

The little boy raced to the house, big black eyes wide. "Can I get dressed now, too?"

"Not yet but I need you to stay clean."

Yvonne held the door open for her children as he ducked in under her arm racing down the narrow corridor to his room. Layla slowly brought up the rear, her eyes rolling after her little brother.

"Can I trade him in?" she wistfully asked. "A pony would be nice."

Yvonne smirked. Layla had developed a dry sense of humor lately. She knew her daughter loved her brother but was outgrowing his childish antics.

"We'll talk." She grinned back.

xxxxxxx

"Nervous?" Walt asked watching Henry in front of the bathroom mirror struggling with the buttons on his crisp cream shirt. A simple task with the use of fingers but Henry was all thumbs. Walt smirked.

"I am fine," Henry huffed finally getting the button through the hole, tucking the tail of the shirt into the top of his black twill pants. He reached for his black bolo tie with a large, silver, Eagle feather shield and slipped it over his head tightening the string under the collar and adjusting it at the neck. Taking his camel-colored jacket from the back of the wooden chair, he slipped it on and tugged the front. Exhaling sharply, he turned to his best man. "How do I look?"

"You'll do." Walt pushed off from the edge of the counter where he was leaning, lips still quirked at the corners.

Henry had shown up at his place at nine in the morning having relinquished his house to the women. He had carried his clothes in an old, green garment bag and the two men mechanically moved around the cramped cabin getting ready. Walt wore a dark brown sport jacket over a white shirt and black khakis. He had struggled with the tie then gave up opting for a clip-on. He would dearly have loved to remain in his jeans but Henry would only marry once. It was worth the effort.

"You haven't heard anything more from Malachi?" Walt asked getting the boutonniere box from the fridge.

"Nothing," Henry confirmed taking the red Indian paintbrush and pinning it onto his lapel. "He has been unusually quiet lately. It concerns me. It makes me wonder what he is planning. He actually avoided us the other day when we were in town. I heard that Mica has been transferred from Tri-State to a federal jail in Colorado. Probably to keep him out of Malachi's reach. And although I am very grateful, I still do not understand the curious relationship between Darius saved Julia. He saved her."

"Could be a power struggle. Darius is Malachi's top guy. Maybe he didn't want Mica taking his place."

Henry thought. "Maybe."

"Not the time to worry about it anyway." Walt clapped Henry on the shoulder. "Ready to go?"

Henry nodded. "I have one stop to make on the way," he announced as they headed for the door.

xxxxxxx

The sand-coloured ranch house with sage green shutters that stood alone on a sparse patch of prairie was abuzz with activity. Kelly arrived with her dress bag over her arm and a big box of flowers in the trunk of her car. Samantha showed up shortly after, covered in grime from the morning's work, regretfully needing a shower. They put their luggage in the spare room and went about getting themselves ready. Yvonne arrived last having left Marcus in Lester's care with strict instruction to have the little boy dressed and at the site by eleven. Layla came with her, their own dresses on hangers on the hook by the front door. This morning would be a girls' morning.

At 10:30, with everyone dressed and ready to go, I emerged from the bedroom wearing the cream-coloured chiffon dress I had worn for Brook and Karel's wedding in May: sleeveless, large pastel blue flowers splashed over the light fabric, low-heeled sandals. No jacket needed today. It would be a hot one. Mid-80s. I struggled to attach the silver Eagle feather pendant around my neck. Matching earrings dangled from my ears. Hair slicked back to show them off. Yvonne instantly moved to help. The tip of the pendant nestled above my cleavage, the charm pointing to the thin, pink line running down the center of my chest. Funny. I was not longer self-conscious of the fading scar. Three years ago today. I smiled proud of my recovery.

"Hey, I recognize that," Samantha spotted the silver set. "You got that the first summer you were here. The rodeo dance."

I nodded still smiling. "I didn't know it then, but Eagle Feather is Henry's Indian name."

"Really?" came from both Samantha and Kelly.

Yvonne nodded.

"That's some omen." Kelly grinned pulling on her wedge heels.

"Speaking of Oh Men, have you heard from Tom lately?" Samantha bluntly asked getting a shushing look from Kelly.

My heart fell and Samantha immediately regretted the question.

"No," I said turning into the kitchen. "He's on a training course with a group of new recruits." I pulled the fridge door open. "He called two weeks ago, before he left. They're up in the Ozarks. No communication. He sent his best wishes then and mailed us a gift. It was a silver picture frame."

No one said anything further. It was a sensitive subject.

"I can't believe Tom couldn't make it." Samantha whispered to Kelly while I was occupied at the counter.

Kelly shook her head, whispering back, "Me neither. But, it's the job. And, he's taken a lot of time off in the past year. She understands but it still hurts."

Returning with a tray of orange juice in champagne flutes, I chose one specifically for Layla, handing it to the little girl. Crouching to her level, I gave her a hug and slipped a silver standing bear pendant around her neck.

"Thank you for being part of my special day." I kissed her forehead.

She returned a tight hug and fingered the small charm, smiling.

Straightening to the others, I offered the remaining four glasses to my friends, taking one for myself and raising it in a toast.

"To not being able to choose just one," I laughed. "You three… four," I acknowledged Layla, "are the closest I have to sisters. You have made a lost, lonely, and bitter woman feel very much at home. Thank you for being part of my life."

Before the glasses could be raised, I found myself engulfed in a group hug of laughing and crying women.

"To sisters," Kelly announced as she broke away.

"To sister," we chimed together, clinked our glasses, and taking a sip.

"Holy crap!" Samantha sputtered, coughing, laughing, the bubbles having gone up her nose. "Woo Hoo! Mimosa!" she cheered quickly downing the rest.

xxxxxxx

Marcus whooped as he dashed back and forth amongst the rows of chairs. His red tunic with blue and white ribbons and trim rustled over his black trousers as he ran. His hair standing on end.

"Get back here!" Lester sternly ordered, ready but unwilling to give chase.

When the little boy shouted around the last turn, just close enough, Lester reached out and grabbed hold of his wrist, spinning the squealing child, effortlessly tossing him over his shoulder giving him a playful pat on the backside.

Sliding him back to the ground and kneeling, he quietly spoke, "Uncle Henry and Julia are counting on you today. You have a job to do and I need you to settle down. Do you think you can do that?"

Marcus nodded vigorously. "When are they coming? I get to carry the rings, right?"

Lester looked at his watch. "Yes, you do. So, you have to calm down and pay attention. Uncle Henry is already here." He pointed to the front by the arch where Henry stood talking with Walt and the Native officiate. "Your mom and the others should be arriving soon. It's almost time."

Marcus stretched to look over the seats to the crowd that had gathered at the fringes. Henry was a popular man and Julia had endeared herself with many in the community. Those that stood were about as many as the invited guests who were seated.

Corporal Aaron Long Feather was in the back with a couple of National Guard friends who had helped keep watch at the Red Pony the summer before. He had declined the invitation, not certain if he would be on duty with the NG. There were some Elders, part of the outreach program. Even Maggie was there in her tattered sweater. She'd woven some flowers into the empty button holes. There were a few teens from the youth group and school. Tommy and his parents stood among them.

At 11:15, a procession of decorated cars arrived and the crowd curiously turned to watch.

Samantha's red Jetta with a big, white, crate paper flower on the hood was in the lead, followed by Kelly's dark green Kia Rio with V-shaped streamers extending from the center of the hood to the side windows, then my blue Escort with a combination of both the flower and V. Yvonne was driving as I was lending her the car after the ceremony so she and Lester could take care of the children.

We parked in a lot to the left of the gathering and got out, adjusting our dresses. Although each of the women had chosen their own, they had coordinated the styles so they were very similar: sleeveless, A-line stopping just above the knees, fitted but not too snug. Yvonne in sunshine yellow. Samantha in rosy pink and Kelly in mint green.

Kelly popped the hatch of the Rio and opened the flower box, handing each of the women a bouquet of local wildflowers. White Mariposa lilies and yellow wild parsley tied with white ribbon. My bouquet was simple. Bright red Indian paintbrushes and daisies. Feathers dangled from the ribbon tie.

Kelly held up the daisy nosegay and smiled, affixing it to the top of my head.

"Beautiful," she sighed.

As we lined up, the crowd stood, everyone turning, watching, waiting for the music to begin.

Layla, in her yellow ribbon dress with blue and red trim, her own bouquet of Indian paintbrushes tightly gripped in her hand, was in the lead with Marcus by her side proudly holding a small pouch containing our rings. Sugar walked nobly between the two children. Yvonne followed by a few paces, then came Samantha, then Kelly. I waited for them to reach the front, and when they did, they paused, turned to me, then sat down in the front row.

My face faltered and I started to shake. NO. They're not supposed to sit.

As I waited for the music to begin, worried about the error, I noticed a man beside them put on a hat. He rose. Class As. A uniform. I let out a small squeal.

Tom!

My face split into a huge grin and my eyes shifted to Henry who simply stood smiling at me. Then, I looked at my bridal party. Kelly's eyes were wide with a "who me?" expression as she shrugged.

Damn! She knew! I giggled nervously. That was a huge secret to keep.

Fidgeting, still waiting for the music, I was anxious to get moving, to greet my man of honor, to stand with Henry, to move on with my life. But, it didn't start, and I could see the musicians hesitate with their instruments looking at Henry for guidance. I tipped my head curiously and Henry simply shrugged, an odd look on his face. The audiences' expression mirrored his as their eyes shifted back and forth between the two of us. I wondered what was wrong. My hand went to my hair, then flattened the front of my dress. I looked at the bouquet and unconsciously ran my tongue over my teeth. Was something stuck between them? I felt my face flush.

"Do not worry. You are beautiful." A velvety voice quietly spoke into my ear.

I jumped a foot, jolting to my left, a shriek shuddering out of me before I could hold it back.

Turning, I launched myself into the arms of the tall black man who stood grinning in a jet black suit. No uniform for the man on his honeymoon. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I held on tight.

"Brook! What… How… When?" was all I could sputter as I took an unsteady step back.

Then, I heard a laugh. That familiar chuckle. "Ever the articulate one." Came from behind him and I found myself launching at a second man.

"I can't believe you're here!"

"Someone has to walk you down the aisle," Captain Chris Bennett grinned.

As I turned to see Henry reaction, I instantly knew that he had been a part of this amazing surprise and my love for him ballooned in my chest. When I scanned the gathering, I saw Karel sitting beside Karine Polk, the UN adjutant, and Major Jim Maitland, his wife Marge, and daughter, Sam, and the tears began to well. They had made the trip. All of them. For me. For us. For this.

 _Don't cry. Don't cry_ , I kept telling myself with little success.

Wiping the tears away with the back of my hand, I took a deep calming breath and closed my eyes. A gentle nudge from Brook's elbow had me hook my hand though the crook, squeezing gently.

"What about me?" Chris grinned extending his elbow, offering it for the taking.

I looped my hand through his, too.

Brook. Chris. Tom. Henry.

My men.

Karel. Samantha. Kelly, Yvonne.

My sisters.

I inhaled deeply, my face flushed and aching from the enormous grin I wore.

Henry nodded to the musician and simultaneously Brook and Chris leaned to either side to kiss my cheeks. A wonderful picture. My heart sang to the drum beat as we rhythmically moved forward.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N - Season 4 began last night. I am going on hiatus until I watch it all. I don't want to spoil it. See you in a bit.

Dani


	14. Chapter 14 New Beginnings

**A/N - Well, I'm back. Sorry for the long wait. So... Season 4... opinions?**

 **Dani**

 **14 – New Beginnings**

The sigh was low and long as frosty yellow and white eked around the heavy, light-blocking curtains. Stretching, she languidly turned, reaching for the warm mass by her side, fingers lightly dancing up that enticing line that drew from below the waistband of his boxers to his navel, spreading to the thick spattering of salt and pepper curls on his broad chest. Nearing fifty, he still had an impressive display of washboard abs. She counted her lucky stars.

He turned, stilling her hand with his, drawing it to his lips, smiling in his semi-sleep, wrapping her in his warmth.

She curled in, head against his strong pectorals, smiling, her mind already going through the list of things to do for the day.

It had been a hell of a month.

Julia and Henry's wedding had been the talk of the Rez. Some still didn't like the fact that Henry had married a white woman, but most were fine with it. They liked Julia. And when they saw her relationship with Brook and Karel, well, that just shut everyone up.

She smiled at the memory.

Julia had been so happy to have her friends there.

It had been done in pieces. Henry had contacted Brook. The original plan was to Skype the wedding as they had done with Brook and Karel's but when the Kenyan UN officer said that they were coming to the United States for their honeymoon; a new plan emerged. Henry called Tom, and Tom got in touch with Chris who relayed that he, too, would be in the States for a meeting at the Secretariat in New York at the beginning of September. Pushing another domino, Chris called Adjutant Polk who gladly agreed to arrange transportation for the group. Tom, then, booked time off… yet again. It had to be the last time, at least for a while. He'd taken too much in the past year. Her job... besides helping Julia prep for the wedding… was to reserve the hotel and keep their presence hidden for the two days that they were in Durant. But, what had been the most difficult task was keeping her mouth shut.

She smiled again.

"I can hear the wheels turning," Tom mumbled softly into her hair. "What'r'you thinking about now?"

"So much… everything…" Her hand caressed up his back feeling the warm muscles ripple.

"Regrets?" He gently pulled back; worry clouding his sleepy, grey eyes.

Kelly's lips curled sweetly as she gazed up at him. "Never." She lovingly pecked his lips.

"Don't worry about the interview. You'll do great." He snuggled her back into the cocoon of his embrace. "Beside, you like being in control. You'll fit right in." He chucked as she poked him in the ribs.

"I'm not worried. I was just thinking about where everyone was, what they're doing. Brook and Karel are probably back in Kenya by now."

"I think Chris is going to like his new job in New York," Tom chuckled. "That woman from the Secretariat is pretty. He's gonna have to keep the drool in check."

Kelly laughed quietly. "Ya, he followed her around like a puppy. I was thinking about Henry, too. About the Red Pony. Jessie being promoted to my old job. Carl. Henry and Julia delaying their honeymoon to help me pack. They weren't going to take much time off anyway… they're good people." She sighed, worry slipping into her voice. "Henry's been acting kind of weird lately. Spending a lot of time in his old apartment above the Red Pony the month before the wedding. Being secretive."

"Pre-wedding jitters. He's never been married before. Lifetime bachelor taking the plunge. It's expected. You think too much." He snuggled her again.

"Maybe," she relented.

"You miss them."

Kelly nodded, his morning stubble scratching her forehead. She tightened her embrace, nuzzling the warmth. "But, this is where I want to be. My house will sell quickly. When it does, I'll go back and pack up the rest. Sell. Donate. There are some things I definitely want to bring, though."

"Bring whatever you want. This place could use a woman's touch."

She laughed again. "That's what Sam keeps saying. Sweet kid. I like her."

"She likes you, too."

Resigning himself to being awake and having to get to work, he rolled over and swung his feet out of bed effectively hauling the covers off of Kelly. She shivered in the chill early-October air as she tugged them back. Mountains were mountain. Big Horn or Ozark. When autumn hit, the air cooled in the preparation for winter.

Missouri. She smiled watching him drag on light grey sweatpants and shuffle sleepily to the bathroom. Her new beginning.

xxxxxxx

"So, what'r we supposed to call you now?" my little group at Durant High wanted to know.

"Mrs. Standing Bear sounds weird even for an Indian but it sounds really funny for you," another chimed and they all laughed.

I smiled looking out over my small group. There were twelve in this class – issues ranging from learning difficulties to attitude problems. It was the same group as the year before, same project. My job was to turn what the school and community deemed as misfits into a productive, cohesive unit. It was bad enough that their peers had labeled them but to have the teachers and certain members of the community do it too… I was out to fight that stereotype.

"How about just Julia? I'm not officially a teacher and I would like you to have trust in me."

Vihoe nodded, satisfied. "Sounds good to me. I've been calling you Julia all summer," he snorted smugly.

"All right, then. Are we agreed?"

They nodded happily and we moved on.

Over the summer, some had met to continue pet projects on their own, things that interested them: working at the Rez Community Center or youth group, two in town had volunteered at a seniors' residence where one of the girl's grandmothers lived. They were anxious to get organized this year and were overflowing with ideas, but the school was late in receiving the funding for the program. I hadn't actually been contacted until half way through September, after a trip to Cheyenne to schedule lectures in the National Guard courses at Casper and Sheridan Colleges. Then, as I only saw them Thursdays and Fridays, I didn't officially see the group until the beginning of October. Bureaucracy at work.

"All right then," I began, standing in front of a white paper easel, a thick black marker in hand, the kids on chairs in a horseshoe facing each other. "What do you want to do this year?"

It was a great discussion. Animated. A little heated at times as they had to be reminded how to listen to each other and not criticise or belittle each other's opinions, but all in all, by the end, we had a list of ideas that we could work from – both in school and in both of the communities. I would have to get permission from the school administration first to approach the organizations. Then, narrow down some of the ideas that the kids seemed fixated on – the Rez youth group and the seniors' center in town being strong two possibilities. Then, speak with the people in charge of these groups. Then, bring it back to the kids. Long process. Short attentions spans. I expected that before the weekend was out, someone would be asking if I'd heard word.

In the empty parking lot, after having met with the principal, I spied a bulky Indian in a black leather jacket dwarfing my Escort with his large backside. He was sitting on the hood, long legs stretched out touching the ground before him, thick black braid hanging neatly down his back, arms crossed against the barrel of his chest, waiting.

"Darius?" I asked warily. "What are you doing here?"

He pushed off of his perch and lowered his arms, jutting his chin in my direction. "You really did marry an Indian," he bluntly stated.

I cocked my head to the side. His directness was no surprise. "No. I married a man. His race had no bearing on my choice."

He grunted. "That big black guy you're friends with, African, I heard. Never seen anyone that black before."

I chuckled. "Is this why you're here? Because I have friends of different races?"

"I don't really care."

"I think you do. I think it intrigues you, but I don't think it's why you're here. Why are you here, Darius?"

"Keep an eye on Henry," he said as he backed away into the parking lot and toward his own saddle brown pick up.

My brow furrowed angrily. "Is that a threat?"

"No," he casually called over his shoulder and left it at that as he drove away.

xxxxxxx

Henry walked the jagged ledge where Hector's memorial stood, ribbons fluttering in the early morning, early autumn breeze. In the cloudless sky, the sun blazed on a place that had become sacred to many. It was still visited. Regularly. The easily accessible rock cliff was covered with pictures, mementos, notes, letters for help, and Henry fingered them as he leisurely passed.

Memories, guilt, had weighed heavily on him since the incident. He thought he could escape for a while – with Julia, with his job, with planning the rodeo, then the wedding – but it was always there, not far from the surface, the knowledge that if it were not for his selfish need, Hector would still be alive. Others, a few, seemed to be picking up the slack, helping where they could, being more vigilant with their friends and neighbors. He had even overheard a couple of the older teens at the youth center quietly discuss a plan to help an Elder who was being bullied by a local gang, but they shut down when he came too close. Not wanting to be recognised for their good deed.

It was good to see the young stand up for what was right. But something more needed to be done. _He_ had to do something to make things right – right with himself, right for the community, right with Maheo. No one could replace Hector, but…

During the winter, Henry had taken the Hector's mail box – the gallon pickle jar – to the Red Pony for safe keeping. He had read the letters. They pained him. But, in the spring, he returned it to its rightful spot with the rest of Hector's things. It was never empty. New notes appeared every day and were starting to overflow onto the rock. He picked one up and opened it. A little boy asking for help for his sick mother. Henry knew what "sick" meant.

He inhaled deeply struggling to keep his emotions in check. This should be a joyous time in his life. He had married a wonderful woman. He should be revelling in life, not obsessing with death. But, he could not shake the devastating guilt.

He reached for the jar, weighing it in his left palm, raising his face to Maheo for guidance. The sun beamed hot onto his bronze features sending a clear message directly to Henry's heart. He bounced the jar once in his hand feeling the weight of his purpose, his destiny, and nodded slightly, then turned to hike back down the cliff side. He had spent a lot of time in his old apartment lately, brooding, trying to hide his dark feelings from the ever-observant Julia. It had become his new retreat. It would now become a safe zone.


	15. Chapter 15 Facing the Odds

**15 – Facing the Odds**

Henry fumbled with his keys, trying one, then another. Puzzled, he looked at the ring in his hand and was ready to try again when his office door suddenly swung open.

"You're late." Malachi stood filling the frame. "We changed all the locks. Remind me to get you a set of keys."

Henry took a quick step back, angry and puzzled. "What are you doing in my office?" he ground out.

"My office," Malachi corrected with a wave of his finger. "Remember our agreement? I gave you some useless information on the whereabouts of Darius Burns at the time of Martha Longmire's murder and you sign over the deed to this place." He spread his hands to the bar enjoying his moment.

"That was only if I went to jail," Henry irately protested.

"No. Information for the deed. I held up my end. Now, you hold up yours. You know," he chuckled lightly, "you wouldn't be the first Indian to make a bad business decision. Ahh, don't worry, Hank," he reassured at Henry's horrified expression, "you still have your job. You've put a lot of years into this place. You can still be the front man. I," he casually reached back and hit the cash register drawer, opening it and removing the bills, "will take control of the finances."

Malachi proudly sauntered back to the office, flipping through the bills, and closed the door. Henry could almost hear the arrogant bastard laugh behind his back.

He was sitting back there at his desk, probably with his feet up. _Son of a bitch!_ Henry hit his fist onto the wooden surface, then hands on hips, saw Carl vigilantly peering through the porthole into the restaurant from the kitchen door, Jessie silently drying glasses behind the bar, keeping her head down. There were new faces milling about, too. Malachi's men. He grabbed the phone from his vest pocket and stormed out to the front parking lot. With all that Walt had been through lately, he hated to bring him this news but he had to know. Malachi's fingers were in too many pies.

xxxxxxx

The rain pelted the roof. Cold sheets blurring the outside to a dismal waterfall flowing over the kitchen window.

I'd built a fire, had the kettle on, waiting. I hadn't heard from Henry all day and it was well past eight o'clock. I'd texted twice with no response and now I was getting worried. He'd been drifting these past few weeks, since the wedding. His mind elsewhere. Kelly's move to Missouri. Branch Connelly's murder. Walt's obsession with Jacob Nighthorse. Henry's walks got longer, as did his drives, long, lost… daydreams for lack of a better word. He was watching everything; everything in the community, everything at home. It was as if he was waiting for someone to jump out of a closet to spook him.

Sugar lifted her head from her warm spot by the hearth, tail thumping the hardwood floor. The kettle whistled, and I moved it from the burner. The front door blew open, and Henry caught it with his free hand, hair dripping, a cloth grocery bag cradled in his left arm. I moved to take it but he pulled it back.

"It's not for us." He laid it on the floor by the door with no further explanation. I let it pass.

"Have you eaten yet? There's beef stew on the stove and homemade biscuits. I could heat it up for you."

"No. I am not hungry." He shoved the bag into the hall closet with his foot and strode to the washroom to dry off. When he re-emerged, I stood waiting, cup of rooibos clutched in my hands, backside casually leaning against the back of the sofa. We gazed at each other, and I raised my brow.

"Well?" I asked.

"Well, what?" He started to move past toward the fire.

"Well, I think I've been pretty patient. Something's bothering you, eating you up. I can guess parts but I would rather you told me rather than guess. What's going on?"

I could see the wheel's turning. His eyes shifted down, then to the ceiling. Avoidance. His jaw flexed angrily. I could tell he didn't want to talk but… too bad. I took a sip of hot tea and waited. Finally, he moved to the sofa and despairingly flopped down sinking into the softness, head tipped to the backrest. Sugar tapped to his side, resting her head against his leg, and he absently began to stroke. Moving around, I placed the cup on the coffee table and curled into the opposite corner.

"I do not know where to begin." His voice was so soft, nearly lost in the storm that raged outside. A similar one obviously raging in his soul. My heart rose to choke me as I watched raw emotions play over his face. "It is Hector. The pain his loss has caused. It is knowing it is my fault. I drew him out of safety, and he was killed." He snorted derisively. "Mathias reminded me of that the other day. Now, there is no one to protect the people. I see the suffering. I have read the letters." He paused, sighed. "It is Walt's fight with Jacob. It is… Malachi…"

There was precious little I could do about his guilt, about his desire to help his people, except remain supportive, but Malachi?

"What about Malachi? Has he been harassing you again?"

Henry snorted a second time. Not a usual character trait for him. "Malachi has taken over the Red Pony." I could now see the tears swimming at the corner of his eyes as they closed to the ceiling.

"What? When did this happen and why didn't you tell me?"

"What could you have done? After Mica, I did not want you involved with him anymore. It was _my_ risk that I did not think he would follow through on."

"I don't understand. What risk?"

"Last summer. When I set the Red Pony on fire. He was to tell me information about Darius Burns. I would sign the deed to him. I thought it was only if I went to jail. He and his men did not. Especially now that the casino is now open. They changed all the locks and Malachi has taken over my office."

"He can't do that. Henry. You have to fight back!"

He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand as a stray tear rolled down. "I do not know how. He has kept me on as manager. The front man, as he calls it. But, he will control the finances. He is, in essence, my boss," he ground through gritted teeth. "Twenty years. He will ruin what I have built."

"Have you actually signed the deed over? Is there a new contract?"

"Not yet. I do not think he is in a big hurry. He knows I will not fight."

I curled into Henry's side, snuggling close, listening to his heart pound. Slowly, he draped his arm around my shoulder, then brought the other across my body, then dropped his head to mine. I could feel his body shake as the ache radiated out of him. We held onto each other until the flame on the hearth smoulder to red ash and the wind and rain died down to pattering on the roof. Silently, he rose to go to the bathroom, and I shifted staring into nothing, thinking. Fingering the phone on the side table, I slowly lifted the receiver.

It was late but the ring on the other end was answered by an efficient voice. "FBI. Denver field office. How may I direct your call?"

"Agent Larry Carlyle, please."

xxxxxxx

"Malachi is having me followed. When I went to the university last week for Walt, Darius was there waiting for me when I came out."

"Hmm, the man seems to be everywhere these days. He came to school last week for me, too. Just to talk." I raised a calming hand to Henry's angry glare. "He told me to keep an eye on you. When I asked if that was a threat, he said _no_. I believed him for some reason. He must have known Malachi's plan for the Red Pony and was trying to warn me only I didn't see it. Damn stupid of me. I'm sorry. I should have told you."

"You could not know."

My Escort flew south on I-25, Henry in the passenger seat, Sugar in the back.

"I told Malachi I needed time off to go to the doctor's with you, but Dr. Wagner is at the County Hospital. He may notice. Where are we going?"

"Casper."

"Why?"

"There's someone I need you to meet. Someone who, I hope can help."

"Please do not tell me you called out the National Guard."

I laughed out loud. "No. Even higher. But, I didn't want them coming to the house, so we're meeting at a halfway point just south of Casper."

"Now, I am intrigued. Who are we meeting?"

"The FBI. An agent who I've been in contact with in the past. I called him, explained our situation, your situation, and asked if he would meet us."

"The FBI." I could hear Henry's brain screech to a halt. "You could not tell me this sooner? And, you have been in contact with them for how long?"

"For a couple of months. Look, every bit helps." I tried to stem his anger and began the story from the first search of the house a year ago to Agent Carlyle's return to warn me off Strand.

Henry sat silently listening, staring out the window as dry grass and distance trees whizzed by, his fingers tapping his lips.

I explained how the agent knew about the tracking device, the surveillance cameras, knew what we were doing to protect ourselves, and apparently had a man on the inside.

"I think the inside man is Darius Burns." I quickly shifted my glance to him. "Why else would he be following you, helping me, warnings us? It makes sense."

"Or the man may simply have a crush on you."

I snorted dismissively. "Nah, I think my theory is better."

 _Maybe. Maybe not._ Henry's thoughts were all jumbled.

Wheatland Travel Plaza was about half way between Durant and Denver: a two and a half hour drive in either direction. And, a drive we made in barely over two hours. Peddle to the metal. We kept our eyes on the rear view mirror and didn't see anyone following us. We hoped.

The Travel Plaza was a single level, brown brick and white vinyl-sided structure: gas, convenience store, truckers' rest area with showers and laundry facility, adjacent motel. No other buildings or businesses in sight. While Henry put gas in the car, I took Sugar for a pee break. Then, he parked in front of the convenience store, bought a couple of ice teas, and we sat at a picnic table on a small patch of grass to the right. There weren't many trucks in the lot but it was still early. The lunch crowd hadn't arrived yet. We watched the road.

Twenty minutes later, a mud-brown, non-descript sedan pulled in, parked beside my Escort. Two men in suits went into the store. They stood out like a couple of zebras in a lion's pride. Henry, Sugar and I followed, and joined them at a small table in the back near the restrooms.

"Ms. Farine." Agent Carlyle half rose as we approached. His counterpart remained seated.

"Agent Carlyle." I slid onto the opposite seat. "This is my husband, Henry Standing Bear," I introduced, "and we have a problem."

I let Henry explain about Malachi: his past as a corrupt Tribal Police Chief, information the FBI already knew but history that only someone from the Rez could truly explain; what had been happening at our home and with the Red Pony; ours and Walt's suspicions of organized crime at the casino where Strand acted as security council; and the suspected use of the Red Pony as a money laundering facade. Coming from Henry, it wasn't just a paper trail but something that came from someone with a vested interest in the community and with in-depth knowledge of the players involved. The agents listened. I hoped they would provide suggestions or help. But, what they suggested surprised us, angered us, frustrated us.

The ride home was quiet. Both of us mulling over what had been said. Thinking of what we had been asked to do. Henry's role would be the hardest. Having to deal with Malachi every day. My role, though not as involved, was difficult because it forced me to stay on the sidelines – be the observer. My Peacekeeper training in full effect.

They never mentioned the inside man.

I never asked… but wish I had.


	16. Chapter 16 Finding Answers

**16 – Finding Answers**

Voices could be heard loud and clear as I came down the corridor toward the room I had been assigned. The door was open and a middle-aged, school monitor stood outside, notepad in hand, tentatively watching through the opening.

"What's going on?" I asked unbuttoning my coat upon approach.

She heaved a heavy sigh: the response of an ever-suffering, world-weary public employee.

"They were arguing. Loudly. I didn't want them disturbing the other students so I let them in. You know how these kids can get." She lowered her voice, leaned closer as if to convey a conspiracy. "Out of control most of the time. Unpredictable the rest. And, the Indians." She rolled her eyes. "So superstitious. They pulled the chairs into a circle and just kept arguing."

I quirked a smile. Pulled the chairs into a circle? Without me there. It was something I had taught them about facing each other when they spoke. In a circle, everyone was equal and had a right to be heard. And, they did it automatically. I was so pleased.

"Thank you. I've got it from here." I smiled, nodded, and quietly entered the room.

"He is!"

"No. He isn't. It's impossible!"

"Says who?"

"Says science! Dead is dead. They don't come back!"

"But, he did! Somehow. He sent help! And, Cody Tall Grass and his mom are gone. I heard it from my cousin."

"Oh ya? How much peyote did he take first?"

Laughter.

"He's twelve."

"So? I had my first hit at twelve."

More laughter.

I placed my jacket and purse on the desk, pulled a chair to the circle and sat.

They stopped for a moment, looking my way.

"Don't let me stop you. This sounds interesting? What's the topic?"

"Hector," Vihoe said with an exasperated huff.

 _Oh brother_ , I thought. There was no getting away from it. "What about Hector?" I remained unruffled.

"Crazy talk that he's come back from the dead." Andy leaned his bulky frame forward onto his knees appearing dominant and powerful. "Dead is dead. He can't even be a zombie."

"The guy in _Ghost_ came back," one of the freshmen piped in. "I saw it last week with my sister. His job wasn't done and his girlfriend was in danger and he came back to protect her. It can happen."

Andy snorted in derision at the younger, female student and leaned back. "That's a movie, not real life. Hector got scalped. Plain and simple. No one comes back from that."

"It wasn't plain or simple. He was murdered, and he's come back to help."

Vihoe, in a rare moment of agreement and clarity, sided with Andy. "I think the idea of _Hector Lives_ is something someone thought up to give people on the Rez hope. I think people are starting to look out for each other and keeping it quiet. That way the idea of Hector being there stays alive."

The others stopped and gazed at their classmate.

"What?" he asked. "I can think."

I smiled. "It just sounded so profound. Vihoe, I'm impressed. Good for you."

I peppered them with a list of questions.

"What do you think about what this person or these people are doing? Do you think it's fair to Hector's memory that others are getting involved? I mean, it was his thing, not others. Are the people being helped actually being tricked? What about the real law enforcement? The Rez does have a police force. Vigilantes basically take the law into their own hands and met out their version of justice. What you may think is fair might not be fair to someone else. Who has the right to decide?"

And, that started a conversation that lasted through our two hours and still could have gone on longer. But, by the end they were calmer, more willing to see more angles, and left the class still talking about the what-ifs.

I was very proud of their progress and left the school feeling lighter than I had in days.

xxxxxxx

The 80-pound punching bag hung from a sturdy beam in the center of the loft apartment. It was on a hook, to be removed and stored when he didn't want it up. But, today, it was up. Being used.

Jab. Jab. Hook. Jab. Jab. Hook. Left. Left. Right. Rez. Corruption. Malachi. Martha. Walt. Denver. Ridges. Murder. Fales. Deena. Pony. Jail. Money. Hector. Malachi. Julia. Tom. Darius. Julia. Feds. Malachi. Rez. Booze. Rape. Hector. Burns. Malachi.

Fury burned his skin and sweat soaked his grey T, under the arms, down his back, rivulets running over his face. Henry's abject frustration was plowed into the bag with each thought. He had sought advice and training from the owner of the Rez boxing club and the commitment to the new undertaking had become a morning ritual since meeting with the FBI. The release needed to maintain a calm facade in order to accomplish what he had been asked to do.

Another punch and the bag rocked on the hook, swung back and was caught. He paused, holding on, his forehead resting to the rough fabric.

When had his life become so out of control?

 _Control?_ He pummelled the bag again with renewed anger. He no longer had control. People. Circumstance had taken control. He needed to get it back. He was determined to get it back.

Retreating a step, he pounded the bag one more time, sending it rocking again, breathing hard before his knees buckled him backward onto the edge of the low bed. He flopped down tipping onto his back, gloved hands raised to his forehead; eyes squeezed shut against the life he had been thrust into. This should be a happy time. How could he be so miserable?

He did as he was told: had catered the casino opening. Malachi's orders. Had watched the Ghost Dancers hop to the drum beat, all glitz and show. No honor in the history or the culture. Just dollar signs in their eyes. He watched the families as he served burgers from the grill. Curious. Proud. Self-conscious. The Tall Grass family, cowering behind the dominant father who was part of the exhibition. Bruises. Fear. Shame. So obvious in their eyes.

He reported to the FBI what he saw at the Red Pony, what he heard about the casino: new faces coming and going. He had overheard part of a conversation about the new law firm that had come to town and Strand's connection to it. He knew of the second ledger that Darius handled and suspected it was part of the loan sharking scheme. He could not see Julia's view of Darius being the FBI's inside man. If he was, it was a hell of a cover. He was too convincing. He watched as cash entered and left the till – how much could only be a guess. He was no longer in charge and felt powerless to do anything about it. His business. Years of work. Carlyle had promised that he would eventually get it back but it would ever be the same. It had been tainted.

Then, there was Gabrielle Loughton. The most recent situation to draw his attention. A young woman from the Rez whose life had been changed forever. Raped by men she had met at the casino. Partied with in the woods. Oil riggers from Oden. They would never be charged. One powerful corporation protected by another. Maybe that is where the law firm came in. And, Gab's mother did not make matters any easier. She was a hard woman impressing on her daughter to _keep your mouth shut_. _Don't say anything 'cause no one's gonna help._

Not true, though. Someone did help. The mother, at least. Paid her off to stay quiet, to not press charges. Money speaks loudly on the Rez. Nothing will change if no one talks.

But, they do talk, or at least write. To Hector.

The letters keep coming.

He has read them.

Henry's eyes opened to the low wooden ceiling and he punched his fists together above his face. He was doing all he could and it still did not feel like enough.

A knock at the door rousted him and he rolled forward tugging the boxing gloves off, tossing them onto the scarred wooden table. Pulling the handle, he startled.

"Good morning. Can I come in?" I asked as Henry opened the door further. "I've never been up here. I always felt that this was your private space." I took a quick, curious look into the dark room.

He pulled the door open further, stepped back and led me in. "You are my wife. You do not need an invitation but I do appreciate the show of respect. I did not expect to see you until later."

"I didn't know when you'd be home." I pulled a small metal device from my pocket and began scanning the room. His brows furrowed as he silently watched. "I had a really great class this morning and wanted to talk to you about it," I trivially continued moving toward the lamp, table, kitchen. "The kids had some amazing insight." When I finished, I held the device up. "On loan from Carlyle. I felt that if Malachi had the audacity to bug our place once, he may try it here, too. But, alas… no." I put the device back into my purse. "So, what's on the schedule for today?"

Henry lowered himself onto a rickety wooden chair at the table. "Malachi is at the casino today. Darius is here for a while, then I am to continue as usual. What were the students talking about that was so interesting?"

"Hector Lives." I watched his reaction. "Some are convinced that he has come back from the dead. Others believe that someone or some group are taking up his fight. We had an excellent discussion on the merits of playing on people's trust to preserve a legacy." I watched him shift as I sat in an opposite chair. "I know you're up to something. Even before we met with the FBI, you were consumed by events and emotions. I have strong suspicions but would rather you tell me what's going on than me having to guess. I know we've been through this before but Mathias came by this morning. Asking how you've been. I think he suspect something, too. So," I paused, leaning back in the chair, "tell me the story about the Helping Bear."

His reaction was subtle. A cautious breath in. A slight straightening of his back. With his elbow on the table, his gaze drifted past me, past the punching bag, into space. He exhaled slowly searching for the starting point, but once he began, it all came out. Not only the anger and guilt that I knew too well, but his attempts to make things right. He showed me the dental books, pages tagged on extracting teeth. He explained his renewed interest in learning how to fight, how to land a blow to knock teeth out. Both Hector's traits. His unsuccessful attempt at actually carrying through, then more guilt about his failure. Encouraging the _Hector Lives_ myth but becoming the Helping Bear, based on an old Cheyenne legend. He had helped the Tall Grass family disappear, was investigating Gab Loughton's rape. He talked for an hour and I sat, listening, watching the emotions change so drastically though his whole body. By the end, he seemed calmer, less burdened. It was cathartic.

"Do you realize why you're attempts at emulating Hector failed?" I asked quietly, unsure how to approach.

He shook his head slowly, sadly. "I was not good enough."

I shook my head in return, a small quirk at the corner of my mouth. He didn't understand. "No." I reached to touch his hand dangling from the tabletop. "You're trying to be someone you're not. And in that, you're not being true to yourself or others. Maheo sees this. You are a good, honorable man who has done so much for this community. Now, you're trying to be someone else. In your attempt to balance yourself, to make things right, you have knocked it further off balance." I smiled sweetly at him. "You have such a good, caring heart; it hurts you to see bad things happen. It's your nature to try to fix it but you can't do it by imitating the actions of another. We are all unique. You have to do it your way. And, I'm here to help if you need it."

"Hector is dead because of me."

"No. Hector is dead because of David Ridges."

"I called for Hector's help."

"Yes, and he did as he chose. His way. You can't blame yourself for the actions of others. David Ridges was responsible for Martha's death, for the meth-head in Denver, for torturing Deputy Connelly's mind, of murdering Hector. He is responsible and no one else."

Henry gazed at me, black eyes boring into my soul, searching for truth and answers. I stared back, unmoving, letting him search. It was there. My utter belief and confidence in him. He needed to see it. To know that I would stand by him no matter what.

Slowly, he rose, stood tall beside my chair and reached out his hand. I took it and stepped into his arms.

"You are a wise woman, Julia Farine Standing Bear." He snuggled into the crook of my neck.

"And, don't you forget it," I chuckled into his shoulder.


	17. Chapter 17 The Blessed Illusion Of Peace

**7 – The Blessed Illusion of Peace**

The sun was bright; liquid gold pouring from the west across the wispy clouds that did nothing to mute the reaching light. Night was coming. Faster and faster these days. But, the sun hung on desperately. Not wanting to let go. A last hope for the dying day.

Sugar and I sat on the smooth, rock ledge, backs to the warmth, on a small blanket to protect our butts from the cold ground. I sighed gazing out from our perch over the open valley; tumbleweeds and uneven, stone outcrops lending character to the barren landscape below.

My little piece of Kenya in Wyoming was quiet.

In the distance, an eagle floated on the inky edge of darkness that had begun to shade the eastern horizon. The sky was ablaze with the battle between light and dark. Maheo's metaphor for life, I supposed. It was only four o'clock but autumn was as much on the menu tonight as the chicken stew I had in the tagine. I turned the woolly collar of my leather jacket up, adjusted my toque. I didn't like the cold. So many years in Africa had thinned my blood. I wondered if I'd ever get used to it. Yesterday's unseasonal fifty-two degrees had been welcome but it had been accompanied by dull skies and cloud. Today, the temperature had dropped. Drastically. Low forties. But, the sun shone and all seemed right in the world. At least for now.

I stretched my legs out, wiggled my toes inside my old, scuffed hiking boots that had lost their tan to dings and age. Smiling, I'd had these boots forever. A relic of the past. But, boy, they were comfortable.

Sugar was huddled against my legs, chin on her paws, absorbing my heat. The poor dear. I stroked my hand over her head, down her back to her tail. Long strokes. Slow and easy. She liked that. It seemed to bring her comfort. Her age was showing now. More since the attack. She was ten, maybe even eleven. I didn't know for sure. Old for a Lab either way. Although her injuries had healed, she was stiff and moved more slowly, cautiously, but she was still alert. Walt's visit earlier today had proven that. She had greeted him with an enthusiastic body wag. I don't know what it was about Walt, but her doggy crush never waned.

I looked down at her peacefully snoozing by my side, and stroked her one more time. The dog I hadn't wanted but who had grown to mean more to me that anything else in my life.

She felt me shift and raised her head; big brown eyes gazing up expectantly. I smiled and drew my knees in, encircling them with my arms, staring off into the oncoming night. After a moment, I sighed.

"Time to go." I reluctantly eased myself up but my companion lowered her head back to her paws, unmoving. I chuckled. "I know. I like it here, too, but this cold isn't good for either of us. Come on," I gently encouraged.

With an audible groan, she got to her feet and bumped her head against my leg rubbing her cheek on the fabric. Doggy hugs, I called them. I lowered to my knees and hugged her back, arms wrapping around her furry neck.

"I love you, too, Sweetheart," I whispered softly into her ear.

xxxxxxx

Cinnamon is what caught his attention first. That spicy sweet smell it has when it was warm. And, something else. He was not quite sure. Cardamom? Maybe. Tomatoes?

He hung his coat on the hook inside the front door, took off his boots and followed his nose.

Chicken and apricots. He opened the oven door and the combined scent of dinner wafted out. Of course. His gaze shifted to the sideboard to a baking sheet of biscuits waiting their turn to be cooked. She had prepared dinner in anticipation of him arriving home at a decent time.

He closed the door and stood in front of the hot oven warming his hands, inhaling deeply. He had grown to appreciate coming home to a dinner that was already made. Not having to hunt for something to eat after a long day or having to grab something out of the restaurant kitchen. He was a pretty good cook himself but lately he had been so tired, no interest in the process of preparing even the simplest meals. It had become a chore. He rubbed his hands together and savoured the delicious scent. Who was he kidding? It was not just the meal, it was the company. He liked having her there, was comforted knowing that she stood with him. His lips quirked up in a small smile. _Mother Bear_ , she had been named by some of the tribe. She guided, taught with a gentle but firm hand, was loving and loyal to her mate, generous to the tribe. And, fiercely protective. It was an appropriate name for her.

He heard the steps first, turned his head, then the door opened and Sugar led the way in. She stopped on the mat and gave a hearty shake that started at the head and reverberated out her tail. It was funny to watch. Julia came in behind her dog, stamped her feet and closed the door, her cheeks rosy with the cold. She pulled off her mitts, then unwrapped the scarf from her neck pulling the hat off with the last turn.

She smiled. That smile of pure peace and love. The smile that hit directly at his heart producing both comfort and pain. What was he dragging her into?

"Hey," I greeted cheerily. "I'm glad you got home early. Do we have the night or do you have to get back?"

He sighed. "Malachi is insisting I close. I will have to return for ten."

I was sorry I asked. I could see his mood suddenly take a negative turn. Pasting the smile back on, I tossed my coat on to the back of the sofa and slowly sauntered up to him, teasing my arms around his waist. "Well, it's only 5… 15." I paused to look at my watch. "That gives us a few hours to relax and, umm… enjoy ourselves." I began to nibble the stubbly underside of his jaw.

He tipped his head back in submission, closed his eyes, smiled. "And, what about dinner?" he said to the ceiling as I began to unbutton his shirt. It had been a while.

"I'll turn the oven off. It'll be fine." I hooked my finger in the waistband of his pants and slowly backed down the hall to the bedroom leading him by a belt loop.

xxxxxxx

"No. No," I shushed, my finger to his lips. "Change the subject."

Henry lay on his back, left arm tucked behind his head; fingers on his right hand drawing little circles on my shoulder as I snuggled contently against his chest. We were tucked comfortably under the thick quilt, talking quietly about everything and nothing – the on-come of winter, wood needing to be split, will Walt ever finish the cabin, but the conversation started to turn with Walt's most recent investigation of robberies on Route 50. Gamblers returning home in the wee hours of morning after a successful night were being stopped and relieved of their winnings. Most weren't initially reporting the crime claiming that either they deserved to be robbed for trying to find a quick way to make a buck or they figured they wouldn't get help anyway. I could feel Henry's body tense with the mention of the casino and tried to redirect the conversation. I honestly didn't think he was opposed to the casino itself. After all, it did provide much needed jobs to many of his people. It was more of who was involved. Darius. Malachi. The FBI. Things we had been trying to put aside at least for a few hours.

"Dinner." I abruptly kissed his chest before rolling over and climbing out of bed. "And, a fire. It's going to be cold tonight."

Henry grinned, pushing the covers back, having enjoyed the interlude. Just the distraction he needed. He felt more relaxed, more at peace. She had a way about her.

"You get dinner ready. I will build a fire for you."

I finished pulling a long-sleeve t-shirt over my head and buttoned my jeans. Playfully catching him around the waist before he could grab his pants, I pulled him close and smirked, "Oh honey, you already built my fire."

At quarter to ten, after the dishes were cleared and an hour on the sofa with the television, Henry had his coat and boots on and was heading for the door.

"I am going to stay at the apartment tonight," he announced. "I have things to do after the bar closes and I do not know what time I will finish."

I watched him from my cozy corner. He occasionally spent the night at the apartment, usually on the nights he followed Darius, searched the office for the second ledger, helped someone in need from the Rez, or was in the role of the Helping Bear. It worried me. In his desire to make things right, he often took risks. I snorted to myself. _Risks_ , I admonished. Who was I to judge when it came to taking risks? I'd taken them my whole life.

"Be safe." I reached for his hand.

He leaned over the back of the sofa and met my lips with his, sweet and slow.

"I will," he assured.

xxxxxxx

The jet black Land Rover sat cloaked in darkness on the soft shoulder about a half mile down the road. Lights and engine off. The driver, alert in his seat, watched and waited. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered the binoculars and placed them on the passenger side as the Rezdawg rumbled past. It was time. Pulling his cell phone from the inside pocket of his heavy coat, he dialed.

"He's on his way. She's alone at the house. Let me know when he shows up at work."

He waited until the tail lights of Henry's GMC were out of sight then started the SUV. Shifting it into gear, he pulled onto the asphalt and rolled forward turning into the gravel lane. The crunch seemed louder tonight. Maybe because it was cold. He drove right up to the porch and turned so that the vehicle faced away from the building. He got out and headed up the steps, raising his hand to knock. Before he could, the door swung open.

"What did you forget?" I said on a laugh, the surprise registering quickly. "You." I looked furtively back and forth out the door.

"He's gone," my visitor announced.

"You're cutting it close. Being here. What if he comes back?"

"I have people keeping watch. Do not worry."

"I have the right to worry. How did you know he'd be leaving?"

He smiled, ignoring the question and asked, "Are you going to invite me in?"

I opened the door wider and my guest entered. He wiped his feet but kept his boots on. I offered a seat on the sofa.

"So, what's the news?" I joined my visitor on the other end.

"Not much that you don't already know. He is not happy and his desire to do something about it can be predictably unpredictable. People are beginning to get suspicious."

I nodded. "Both Walt and Mathias have been asking questions. And, people are talking."

" _Is_ he perpetuating Hector's quest?" The question was direct, expecting an honest answer.

I shook my head. "I can't say." _Can't_ not because I didn't know but because I had promise Henry I wouldn't. My answer would have to do.

My guest shook his head in response, hopefully understanding. "He does not like or trust me, but I can try to steer him in the right direction."

"What do you have in mind?"

"It appears we have a common foe." He leaned back, crossing his right ankle over his left knee careful not to crease the twill trousers, his left arm casually positioned across the back of the sofa cushions. "And, I have a plan that I believe will help both of us." He smiled coolly. "You and I. We have had a cordial relationship since the beginning. I am glad we have managed to keep the lines of communication open."

I nodded. I actually liked this man even with the information I had recently uncovered. And, with my years of experience, I had learned that sometimes you had to take a leap of faith, trust your gut, in finding common ground when dealing with an uncertain ally. He was certainly an uncertain ally but one I believed I could work with.

"So, what's your plan?"

It was a short conversation. The plan was simple. Trust, however, would be the only issue.

"I'll have to tell Henry at some point. Soon. I won't keep secrets from him."

"Of course. As it should be, but give me a day. Let me speak with him first. Let me make my offer."

I nodded. I wasn't about to let on that Henry wouldn't be home that night and I didn't know when I would see him again.

He had proposed an interesting plan. And, it had a safeguard, if he was honestly willing to go through with it.

Trust. That's what it boiled down to. And, that, lately, had been in very short supply.


	18. Chapter 18 A Whole Heap Of Trouble

**18 – A Whole Heap of Trouble**

He found it in a false bottom of the right hand desk drawer. An addition to his desk that had been created since Malachi took over the Red Pony. You would think he would have been a little more original in their hiding spot. Did he think he was stupid or just too intimidated to do anything about it? It was a non-descript, 8 ½ by 11 inch, black and white composition book. One that could be bought at any office supply store. It was bound on the side, not with a spiral coil but glued so that if a page were torn out it would immediately be noticed.

He flipped through. Rows of names. Some he recognized. Most he did not. Each had a dollar amount beside it. Some had several columns. Loans. Interest. Paid in part. Paid in full. The amounts varied from a few hundred to several thousand dollars. Henry shook his head and raised his cell phone. With his left hand, he turned to the beginning of the book and began to flip through the pages again, carefully photographing each one.

The room may have had a surveillance camera – a nannycam – hidden somewhere, but he did not care anymore. He was tired of playing their game. Tired of watching the man he despised run the business that he had work so hard to build. He would do as Agent Carlyle asked; gather information, pass it along. He hoped it would speed up the process, but he could not help but wonder, if they had a man on the inside, why was it taking so long to shut Malachi down?

 _This_ , he thought, _this book may be the evidence needed to finally end Malachi's reign_.

He could only hope. He was drained of riding this rollercoaster of emotions. Putting on the brave face for Julia, Walt, everyone else who was watching him when all he wanted to do was scream at the world and fight back. Cady had seen his temper and frustration earlier tonight. She had confronted him about mud on his truck. Mud. Really? She practically accused him of killing one of Gab's rapists who had been found face down in mud at the Oden drilling site. Okay. Yes. He had been there, broken into the bunk house, rifled through a footlocker looking for a schedule he could use. But then, he left. Granted, he did not tell her what he had done. The mud had come from the Rezdawg taking an unexpected nosedive into a culvert when the carburetor died. He had had his head under the hood some ten miles away when the crime was committed.

He huffed, turning another page, taking another picture. He was taking risks, but kill? No. That was too big of a risk. Jail was not an option. As he told Cady, he had too much respect for those who had worked so hard to get him out of jail to risk ever going back.

But, was he not taking that risk anyway in his role of Helping Bear?

He shook the thought from his head as he reached the end of the notations. Closing the ledger, he returned it to the drawer, pressed the wooden panel back into place, and replaced the papers, pens, and assorted odds and ends on top. Satisfied that the contents looked untouched, he grimly pressed his lips together, closed the drawer and hit _Send_ on his phone, transmitting the photographs to the FBI.

He stood for a moment, contemplating what might happen next, then using an adjoining door to the kitchen, Henry slipped out of the office.

Carl, weary from the day, looked up from scraping grease from the grill, his grey Route 4 Band t-shirt he'd picked up on his visit to Texas last summer was splattered with dish water, the white apron over his worn Levi's showed the residue of the night's work.

"Hey, Boss." He nodded without losing his rhythm.

"I am no longer the boss." Henry paced through the kitchen, stopped and leaned backward against the counter, arms folded across his chest.

"You'll always be the boss," Carl reassured wiping his hands on a checkered towel, tossing it over his shoulder. "I don't care what these assholes think or do. My loyalty is to you." He stopped his chore and faced the man who had treated him with respect for the past eight years, leaning his backside against the opposite counter.

Henry's lips curled up at the corner, a warmth simmering in his chest.

"Thank you," he breathed from the heart. "I appreciate that."

Carl nodded. "I'm surprised I still have a job. Me not bein' Indian an' all. I guess they like the food." He half chuckled. "I'm invisible back here, ya know. You'd be surprised at the things they say," he hinted.

Henry's interested peaked and he waited for his friend to continue.

"Julia comes by sometimes. Comes in the back door. They never see her. She's got this little device. Checks for bugs. I thought she was paranoid at first but I guess with what y'all have been through; you have the right to be. Anyway, there's nothin' in here." He casually waved to the room.

"So, what have you heard?" Henry quietly asked.

"Enough to know I really hate Strand. An' I can't get a right read on Burns. The man's like fog, creeps in quiet-like, hangs around 'til you get used to it being there, an' before you realize it, it's gone. The man's got things on a tight leash. Himself. Others. No emotion. Heard him talk the other night 'bout divvying up some cash with a couple of other fellas. It was real late. 'bout 1:30. Gave each of 'em a bundle of bills. Counted it out with me in earshot. A grand each. Geez. What am I? Invisible? Then, I heard him say somethin' 'bout some Oden fella from the rig hittin' it big. Wantin' to party. Strand's got some kinda deal with their boss. Ya know. I scratch your back, you scratch mind sorta thing. Said they were goin' out to the Rez tonight? I heard talk about the bonfires. That what happened to that girl?"

"Yes." Henry inhaled deeply, deliberately. "They certainly have nerve going back. I think they believe they are untouchable. All of them. Malachi. Darius. Newett Energy. The workers. They probably think that they have enough judges, lawyers, and businessmen in their pockets to not have to worry about anything."

Carl snorted in derision "That and the way Burns and his men strut around here, they probably figure we're all too scared shitless to do anythin' about it. The Brotherhood," he snorted again. "No offence, Henry. I understand wantin' to keep the culture, but they're nothin' but a bunch of thugs."

Henry slowly nodded. "Do not discount them, though. Having felt the wrath of the Brotherhood when I was in jail, you have reason to be cautious. These men believe in what they are doing. They believe that they are right in protecting the Indian way of life when in reality all they are doing is fighting a battle that has been over for a hundred years."

"Is the battle really over, though? I mean, I know there's a lot of injustices toward the Indians."

Henry nodded in thought. "Standing up for what is right or just is not done for profit or self-gain. Malachi and his men are out for themselves. Protecting the Indian way of life is just an excuse to bully and intimidate and line their pockets."

xxxxxxx

It was late. The quarter moon was high and partially shadowed by clouds. Darkness surrounded him in a cold shroud and he shivered involuntarily while crouched behind an ancient Lodge pine.

Carl had been right. They were here. He could hear them laugh; hear the music echo through the trees; hear the crackle of the bonfire as the wood split and the fire rose. Yes. Someone from the oil company had gotten a nice promotion. Probably replacing the dead guy. They were here to celebrate.

After speaking with his cook, Henry had gone to the casino, sat outside the entrance and watched as the Newett Energy van pulled up and loaded with laughing, drunken men from the rig, and girls from the Rez. Had the girls learned nothing? Did they not care? They had to have known what happened to Gab. But, the lure of free booze and the possibility drugs was too great for some. Henry's blood boiled as he pulled the black hood over his head, tying the red scarf around his throat. He was ready. He drew the precision pliers from his pocket, felt the weight of them in his right hand and tucked them safely back into the folds of his jacket. He punched his fists together getting angrier with each passing moment. He would fight if he had to. Someone had to stand for these girls even if they did not stand for themselves. And, this was his land, not theirs. He knew it blind. No one would know he was even there.

Straining his ears, he heard voices getting closer: soft, casual, easy conversation. The rustle of feet on the dead leaves. Then, a surprised, muffled squeal. A struggle.

 _No_. His ears heard it. His heart heard it. She said _no_.

He was out of the shadows in an instant, grabbing the man and spinning him away from the frightened girl. They fought, the rigger surprising Henry by keeping his balance, but Henry had learned some new tricks. He rounded a solid right hook to the chin and the man whirled and fell, landing on his face. Henry was on him quickly, rolling him over, fingers gripping his jaw, pliers in hand struggling to open his mouth. The rigger fought hard, loosening Henry's grip and rolling out from under. He struggled to his feet ready to fight when a shot rang through the trees. He stumbled backward, blood oozing from his chest, then, crumbled, laying still, gasping for breath. Henry's head shot up, and he instinctively lunged forward grabbing for the gun from the shaking hand.

"Let it go, Gab. Let it go." He closed his hand over hers.

She let go, dropping the small snake slayer to the ground. But, a new sound drew their attention.

Walt. Calling. Running toward them. He had obviously heard of the celebration as well. Come to break it up or look for possible suspects to question.

 _Shit!_

"Run!" Henry pushed Gab forward, both racing through the trees, hidden in the shadows.

Another shot rang out. This one deeper, a rifle, and Henry felt a sharp bolt of fire pierce his right thigh. He stumbled, grabbing a tree for balance, but pressed on. Julia flashed through his mind. Regret for her, what he had put her through, was going to put her through, but no regret for what he had to do. There was no turning back now. He had to finish this. Gab needed him.

xxxxxxx

"No, he's not here, and I don't know where he is… No, Mr. Strand, I am not covering for him. He was working late last night and was going to spend the night in his old apartment. You're saying he never showed up today?" It was 6 pm. Peak dinner time at the restaurant. Henry wasn't there? "Look. I know he was having trouble with the truck. Maybe something happened. All I can say is, I'll give him the message and have him call you when he gets in… No? You don't want him to call? Okay. Fine. I'll pass the message along anyway."

I hung up and stared at the phone. That was the third person looking for Henry today, besides me. I had called his cell phone several times throughout the day and had gotten the voice mail. He had not returned my calls. Walt had called in the early morning. There had been some kind of incident on the Rez last night. He wouldn't give me details. Mathias had stopped by around lunch. Same information as Walt only this time I found out that someone had been shot, was in critical condition at the hospital. Now, Malachi was looking for him? I was getting worried.

Sugar looked up from her spot by the hearth as if sensing my concern.

"I have this awful feeling, Sugar. I hope he's alright."

xxxxxxx

Henry stood under the blasting heat in the tiny shower stall, hands against the wall for support; his right leg having gone numb from the raw hole that he was sure was becoming infected. He ached all over, but it was done. Gab was safe.

What an ordeal.

His damn truck gave out after running it off the road in their escape from Walt, the Rez, the shooting…

They had borrowed a car from one of Gab's friends and headed northwest to the Crow Reservation.

He rested his head against the cold tile wall. The Crow… sworn enemies of the Cheyenne… and that was who he had to turn to for help. He knew of a Medicine Woman there with great power and strong reputation. After the initial … introduction… where she had knocked him out with the butt of her rifle, she agreed to help Gab and turned him away to take care of things on his own Rez. He drove back to where he had left his truck to find it gone, then drove to return Gab's friend's car to find the supervisor of the oil rig and a couple of his henchmen looking for Gab. They had attacked him, bound him with duct tape and called Walt. He huffed. Just his luck. Walt had arrived with Cady in tow and the two of them questioned him in the car. He wished he could tell Walt everything but plausible deniability would be his best friend's only defence in this whole mess. He ended up walking back to the Red Pony, calling Julia, stripping off and climbing into the shower. He was desperate to crawl into bed, pull the covers up and sleep away all his troubles.

Shutting the water off, he pulled an old threadbare towel from the chrome rack and dried himself off. The smell and sizzle of bacon caught his attention and his lips instinctively turned up. It did not take her long to get there. He wrapped the towel around his waist padding to the main room in his bare feet.

She turned from the stove, moving the frying pan from the burner, watching him limp past the table. She reached out, fingers gently running down his arm before easing her arms around his waist, pulling him into an embrace.

He took it, wanting to collapse in the comfort and safety of her arms. Her life had been in total upheaval since meeting him. And, here she thought she was safe from the corruption and violence of tribal warfare. He buried his face in the crook of her neck feeling the pressure build behind his eyes.

"What have I done?" he let out a muffled croak, holding tight, not wanting to let go.

"You did what you had to do."

"I fear the worst is yet to come."

"I fear you may be right."


	19. Chapter 19 The Enemy of My Enemy Is My

**19 – The Enemy Of My Enemy Is My Friend**

I passed it on the way out of the Red Pony parking lot and my heart took a sudden spirally crash into my stomach.

It was that black Land Rover – sleek and immaculate. The driver and I shared a long glance as we moved in opposite directions, and he shot me a curt nod before looking away. Composed. Always so damned composed. I swallowed hard, my hands gripping the steering wheel as I eased toward the main road. It was his plan and it was a good one…if he actually did what he said he would do. There was that issue of trust again. Funny how an ancient Sanskrit proverb carried so seamlessly through time and cultures. _The enemy of myr enemy is my friend_. Two opposing sides teaming together against a common foe. Even I had used the same principles in my work. I took a deep breath fighting the overwhelming urge to turn the car around and go back, but as I paused at the highway and looked in the rear-view mirror, I noticed that he had already pulled to the base of the long flight of stairs and was getting out. He carefully studied the surrounding area as he stood beside his car and, satisfied he was not being watched, began the long climb to the white, paint-chipped door at the top. I relented to the fact that whatever was about to happen, there was nothing I could or should do. So, I drove on.

The knock was sharp and Henry headed for the door as he buttoned on a clean red flannel shirt. _What had she forgotten and why did she knock_ , he grinned to himself as he swung it open. _Manners_. He startled at the man standing before him.

"You must really love the Red Pony to voluntarily stay in this place," Jacob said in lieu of a hello.

Henry took a surprised step back, silently inviting the businessman in, wondering about the peculiar visit.

As he entered, Jacob made a slow turn taking in the sparse, small and very traditional decor. "You have such a charming home. And, a wife who obviously loves you. Why do you choose to stay here?"

"Sometimes it is necessary." Henry cautiously watched his visitor. "What can I do for you, Jacob?" He carefully eased into a seat at the table motioning for the casino owner to join him.

Jacob sat, elegantly crossing his right leg over his left, straightening an invisible wrinkle with a manicured hand. "I believe that you and I share a common problem." Jacob cut to the chase to Henry's raised brows. "Malachi," he clarified. "I feel that I have been tricked." He folded his hands neatly on his lap; a contrite smile quickly came and went before he continued. "Though I would never admit this publicly, I believe I have made a mistake. I wanted to give Malachi a chance. The years in prison. I thought he had seen the error of his ways and I wanted to give him the opportunity to prove that he was a changed man. As it turns out, I now believe that he is using the casino as a front to conduct illegal activities; stealing from me and my clients and therefore from those who have a share in the business."

"Why don't you talk to Walt?" Henry knew it was a jibe.

Jacob registered it, his lips curled in an amused smile. "Because, he doesn't like me," he stated simply. "But, you," he leaned forward pointing a finger at his host; "You and I want the same thing. What we do, we do for the betterment of the people – our people. Malachi is threatening what I have worked for."

"And he has taken what _I_ have worked for." Henry's eyes didn't leave Jacob's.

Jacob leaned back. "Yes, that is unfortunate. Malachi is stealing from me and needs a place to process that money."

"Through the Red Pony," Henry offered. "He is laundering it here." His statement was matter-of-fact. He had seen the ledger but withheld that information from his guest.

Jacob nodded and inhaled deeply before making the offer, one he had discussed with Julia. She had been a wonderful confidant and had offered some very insightful suggestions. Ones that blended well with his plan.

"I have a proposal for you," he began. "You help me keep my business and I will help you get yours back."

"How?"

Jacob lifted his right elbow comfortably over the back of the rickety old chair, leaning coolly on the peeling rung, a shrewd smile spreading over his lips.

"I have a plan."

Henry listened.

It was a good twenty minutes after Jacob left when Henry finally got up from the table to re-fill his coffee mug. He had been thinking about what had transpired, what he would have to do, how he would do it.

Between Malachi, Darius, Julia, Walt, Mathias, the FBI, Helping Bear and now Jacob; he was being pulled in too many directions, constantly looking over his shoulder. Demands, whether consciously issued or not, seemed to be never ending.

But, now…finally… he had some hope.

He could not fight alone. Maybe this could work.

xxxxxxx

A heavy rap at the door jolted Henry from his thoughts.

It was Walt. Frustrated. Worried. Angry. He stood on the small landing with his hands on his hitched hips, head down in thought, Cattleman's hat shadowing his brow, his jaw was set, ready to confront as soon as Henry opened the door. He knew his best friend was keeping secrets, and now he needed to know what they were. When the door finally swung inward, he all but pounced.

"Walker Browning," he began curtly, stepping in so Henry could close the door behind him, "Remember him?"

"And, good morning to you, too," Henry's answer was just as terse. "He is hard to forget." He unconsciously rubbed his wrists in memory of their last meeting where he had been attacked and bound with duct tape. Browning was the supervisor at the Newett Energy oil rig in Oden and the man leading the charge in the hunt for Gab. He was ruthless and deceitful. And, Henry did not like him one bit.

"He challenged Mathias when I didn't bring you in and now he's beat up Gab's friend, Mandy. The man's on a mission and he's not going to stop until he finds her. It's only a matter of time and you know it." He jabbed a rough finger at his friend. "You think you're protecting her but you're not. He's going after her and you know he has the resources to do it."

Malachi. The Brotherhood. Henry inhaled deeply. Yes. He knew.

"I gotta know, Henry. Where is she? I have to get to her before Browning does. I know you know where she is. I have to get to her first."

Henry collapsed into a chair at the ancient table, arms hanging loosely at his sides, eyes staring blankly toward the small stove, the smell of bacon still lingering from Julia's visit. Suddenly it all hit him and he was completely overwhelmed. First Julia, then Jacob, now Walt. One right after another. And, now this. Gab. Browning. An F4 tornado could not match the swirl of his thoughts.

But, in all of this mess, there was one certainty.

He and Walt had been best friends for 38 years, and even though they sometimes found themselves on opposite sides of an argument, he trusted Walt with his life. He would, therefore, now trust him with Gab's.

"She is on the Crow Reservation, in the northern Big Horns. Near Wyola, Montana. She is with a Medicine Woman who will take care of her. She needs much healing. Physical. Emotional. Mental. Spiritual."

Walt grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil from the counter.

"Show me," he ordered, pushing the writing tools forward.

Henry drew a map – the path, the river, the mountains, the meadow – to the old woman's settlement in the forest. He wanted to go, too, but Walt insisted he not. Mathias was suspicious and if the Brotherhood really was involved, he needed Henry to be on watch. To let him know if anything comes up.

Reluctantly, Henry agreed, handing over the directions. Gab did not trust anyone. Hopefully, his soft-spoken friend could do some quick talking to convince her to go with him.

xxxxxx

I was riding a natural high. It had been a good day.

My little group from school had spent the afternoon at the seniors' center in town helping decorate for the holiday season. There were fifteen of us in all and the principal had hired a mini bus to take us there and back.

Vihoe and Andy took charge. Natural leaders. And, I was both shocked and elated when one of the more crotchety old men at the center was rude to one of my freshman native girls and Andy stood up for her. She was trying to hang garland in the social room but couldn't reach the upper corner of the wall. The old man, in a walker, grabbed the garland from her, made a comment about stupid Injuns, and tried to hang it himself. He couldn't reach either which agitated him even further and with a final stretch lost his balance. When she tried to steady him, he pushed her away, teetered precariously and tumbling sideways. Andy and a resident attendant caught him before he hit the floor. Andy roughly stood him back on his feet and, as indignant as a seventeen-year-old can get, told him to _get with the program, man. We're all here to help. Doesn't matter what colour we are._ As he returned to his task, Vihoe, his once sworn enemy, quirked a smile and gave him a silent chin nod of approval. The glacier that had been years in the making between the two was slowly being chipped away.

Pulling into the lane leading to the house, I felt my good mood slowly slip away. The familiar white and blue Tribal Police Jeep was parked in front of the porch steps. Mathias was resting on the swing, waiting.

As I parked, I drew a deep breath and braced myself. These days, anything could happen. Pasting on a smile, I swung the car door open and greeting my friend.

"Hey! How's it going?" I hauled my knapsack from of the back seat.

He rose and came to the railing, leaning onto it with both hands, hip hitched, his long black hair characteristically hanging down his back.

"Where is he, Julia?" Mathias, having grown tired of being given the run around, cut to the chase.

I climbed the steps and opened the front door letting Sugar out while the Police Chief turned to lean against the railing, arms crossed over his chest.

"I assume you mean Henry." I tossed the knapsack inside the entrance and joined him leaning a shoulder against a support post. "I saw him this morning at his old apartment. He worked late last night and slept over. Want to come in?" I invited rubbing my arms. "It's kind of cold out here."

Mathias ignored the invitation. "Don't give me that." He shook his head. "He never showed up to work yesterday and I know he didn't work last night. You're not a stupid woman, Julia. Where was he?"

I sighed raising my right hand to my hip. "Mathias, I honestly don't know. He left two days ago, said it was going to be a busy couple of days and he was going to stay at the apartment. I spoke with him yesterday and everything seemed fine. I know you know he built the Red Pony from the ground up. Now, he's lost control of it. He sticks around because he doesn't want to lose it completely and wants to do all he can to protect the employees." I folded my arms and shook my head. "He really hates working for Malachi. When I saw him this morning, he was just getting out of the shower and I made him breakfast. I assumed he was getting ready for work. Henry has never given me cause to doubt him and he has never lied to me."

"That you know of…"

"That I know of. But, I trust him. I know you two have a … shall we say, rocky, past. But look at what he does and what he has done for the community. He cares so much. He does what he can to help others." I was referring to the Elders' lunch on Fridays, hiring Natives whenever he could, paying back those who had supported him when he was in jail. But, Mathias didn't see it the way I did.

"That's what I'm afraid of. If he's taking up Hector's role, he's a vigilante, and therefore breaking the law. And, if Henry _is_ doing this, he has to stop. If was hard enough when Hector was around, but now, people aren't taking the law seriously anymore, and my job is getting harder because of this _Hector Lives_ thing."

I shook my head sadly. "I'm sorry. I really don't know what to tell you."

xxxxxxx

He scrubbed his face and paced away from Hector's Ridge. The past 72 hours had been the most stressful of his life and that included the time he had spent in jail.

After Walt's visit, Henry had sat stewing in thought, helplessness and frustration building. What kind of man was he to sit by and wait? He had made a vow. He had to help. Jumping up, he grabbed his rifle from a small closet by the front door and shoved the black hood and red scarf into the pocket of his coat. Borrowing Carl's truck, he quickly made his way back to the Crow Reservation. Parking on a split in the road, he walked the path, waded the river, hiked through the thick forest, heading toward the meadow. He knew he was a good hour behind Walt and as he approached the treeline, he heard a voice. A firm demand. _Hand over the girl._ He peered through the trees to see a stand-off with Walt and Gab in the center of the field facing Walker Browning. Three of Browning's men completed the circle surrounding their prey guns raised. Walt had lowered his weapons to the ground but stood ready to fight while Gab had the look of a deer caught in headlights.

Verbal commands continued from Browning with Walt unrelenting, not letting Gab go.

Fuming, Henry pulled the hood over his head and tied the scarf around his neck. Shouldering his rifle and took aim.

Birds scattered from the treetops as the shot rang out and those in the meadow flinched and ducked. All but one. One flew backwards. Direct hit.

With that, all hell broke loose and the battle began.

Walt had grabbed his gun, fired at Browning while Henry winged one of the henchmen. The last man ran and Henry broke cover at the edge of the treeline. Walt caught side of the black figure and raised his hand, a gesture that he had things under control. Henry quickly turned and gave chase back down the mountain. As Browning's man reached his truck, Henry aimed and fired again, blowing the tire and catching up. After a short battle, Henry knocked him out and tied the man's hands to the side view mirror. Satisfied and understanding that he could not be involved any further, he headed home.

Thus, the visit to Hector's Ridge.

He had returned Carl's truck and walked to the ridge, hiding his hood, scarf, and rifle in a deep crevice behind the _Hector Lives_ banner.

He sat for the longest time staring at the mementos, the letters – people's hopes, dreams, and calls for help.

He could not do this anymore. There was too much at risk. So much needed to be done and he was just one person. Jacob had the right idea. There was one primary catalyst. Malachi. Focus on him. With him eliminated, the rest should fall into place.

As he walked the road back to the Red Pony, he turned as the ground rumbled behind him.

"You found my truck." He smiled at Mathias as the Police Chief pulled the Rezdawg to a stop.

Mathias leaned his elbow out the window and slowly nodded.

"I found it abandoned off Pike's Road." He stared at Henry then drew his eyes inside the cab, swinging back an old blanket exposing a massive red stain soaked into the leather. "Don't think I want to hear this explanation just yet. Henry, you're under arrest."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A/N - Just as an aside, a news article came to my attention over the holidays and I thought I'd share it with you if you haven't heard about it already.

Google - Muslims in Kenya offer a Christmas present to the world. This is an issue dear to my heart. I believe strongly in the good of humanity.

Dani


	20. Chapter 20 Down The Rabbit Hole

**A/N** **\- I'm so glad I'm finished with this season. It wasn't easy or fun but I didn't want to go too far off track. Now, I get to make assumptions and create. Wahaha.**

 **Dani**

 **20 – Down The Rabbit Hole**

The first blow snapped his head back, but he steadied himself quickly. He had been expecting it. A fast one-two punch to the gut with a sharp right hook to the jaw made his opponent spin to the right and had the others quickly backing up. He was not the same man he was a year ago. Gone were the days of passive resistance. His life had completely changed.

"You've learned a few things, brother," a brick of an Indian said from his casual lean by the steel security door in the prison common room. "I remember you from before." He pushed off of the wall, strode forward parting the circle formed by his comrades, coming face-to-face with his quarry. "Malachi told us to take care of you while you were here," he chuckled lightly. "Now, I wonder what he meant by that?"

The others mimicked their boss and Henry braced for another punch, but none came.

"You really think you could take Hector's place?" his adversary said jutting his chin in Henry's direction. "I don't think so, but we've heard about you. What you did for that girl. The one that got raped." A low growl emerged from the Brotherhood. "Those fellas from Oden got what they deserved. You shoulda ripped their dicks off, too." There was a murmur of approval. "Malachi says you won't be any trouble." He gave a short nod and stuck out his hand. "We'll see. They call me Crow."

Henry cautiously returned the gesture. "Name or tribe?" he asked as they shook.

The man shrugged with a lop-sided smirk. "Both."

This was not what he expected or where he wanted to be. He had vowed to never return but here he was. At least it did not look like he would be fighting for his life.

He had spent the first three days in a holding cell in the jail on the Rez charged with public mischief, assault, illegal use of a firearm, and attempted murder. Mathias was anxious to send him to Tri-State as quickly as possible but Cady had stepped in to slow the process. With a cheque and letter in hand from Jacob Nighthorse, she was now the official legal representation for those who needed help on the Rez. Jacob, much to everyone's surprise, had backed Cady Longmire in her eager venture to open a legal aid center, and Mathias' respect for both of them surpassed his dislike for Henry and he allowed her to take the time she needed.

She was furious, though, that Henry had lied to her, and Mathias enjoyed her tirade reverberating through the wall from the spare office often used as an interrogation room. Though he couldn't hear the whole conversation, he had to smile that she was letting him have it with both barrels. Henry had sworn that he would never risk the faith people had in him by doing something that would jeopardize his freedom, but here he was, back in cuffs. Once she cooled down, they had talked for nearly two hours. She had a battle ahead of her. It wasn't like before. Henry was guilty and everyone involved knew it.

After she left, Walt arrived with information from the meadow. Gab had gotten away from him and disappeared. When he moved to look for her, the old Medicine Woman had blocked his path. As they stood talking, Walt could smell the gun powder and smoke from the old woman's rifle. Though she wouldn't admit it, Walt was pretty certain she had fired the shot that had killed Browning's man. She had been at the right angle but, he lowered his head knowingly, he had also seen _that hooded figure that people had been talking about and he had a rifle, too_. At that, Henry volunteered the location of his weapon. Walt needed to know. Ballistics should confirm that the fatal shot had not come from him. Unfortunately, this would also lead to the discovery of the hood and scarf. Clear evidence that he was indeed Helping Bear. Walt acknowledged with a shrug, there was little he was able or willing to do about it as this was all out of his jurisdiction.

On the third day, Agent Carlyle arrived with Julia. Julia introduced him to Mathias as a friend, not as the FBI. Carlyle seemed strangely pleased with the situation and took a seat cross from Henry at the table while Julia sat with her arms folded over her chest, saying nothing as Carlyle laid out the new plan. Where one door had been firmly slammed shut, another had conveniently opened. Carlyle's team had analysed the ledger and the information being exposed was telling. Malachi's reach was as deep and wide-spread as they suspected. His business was diverse and his influence over some influential people in power was- for lack of a better word - impressive. Henry was now in a position to explore his intricate operation inside the prison walls. With what they already had and the other information that was coming in from different sources, this could be the last piece to bring Malachi down.

Henry could feel the dread rise from his toes to his heart and could feel his head begin to pound. He closed his eyes against what he knew he had to do, and prayed it would be over soon.

Carlyle got up and moved to the wall giving the couple some privacy.

"This is all my fault," Henry sighed in despair. "What have I gotten you into?"

"Nothing that we can't get out of," her reply was short.

"You are angry. You have every right to be. In the two years that we have known each other I have been in jail twice. This is not who I am.'

"I know. I trust my judgement. Yes, I'm angry. I honestly didn't think you'd go that far. But, I'm more scared. For you." She leaned forward, arms on the table, reaching for his hand. "We will do what we have to do to get through this. To end this once and for all."

"Jacob came to see me the other day. He had a plan. It was a good one and I was all set to do it. Now what?" He put his head in his hands.

"I'll talk with him. Maybe there's something I can do."

Henry's head shot up. "No. I do not want you involved."

She snorted and shook her head. "Darling, I'm already involved. And, I know about the plan." She paused considering her next words. "I knew before you did. Jacob and I talked about it before he went to you."

Henry's brow furrowed angrily. "You knew? And you kept it from me?"

"I only found out shortly before you. Interesting. Jacob wanted my advice. Using my skills to iron a few things out. Now, between Jacob and Carlyle we'll end this."

Henry squeezed her fingers lightly, his face grim. "We can only hope."

xxxxxxx

The Tone was nearly empty and that's just the way I liked it. You could move from machine to machine or use the mats or free weights without having to wait for some jock to stop grunting or some newbie to figure out how the apparatus works. I think anybody who has used a gym knows this. You get on a roll; ready to purge those demons and you're stopped in mid-stride because there's someone in the spot where you want to be. That's what I like about early afternoon. Most people are either still at lunch or have gone back to work. Me? I've got a weird job with weird hours. Gone are the structured days of living hand to mouth helping a community struggle to survive. Now I'm down to helping one person struggle with what he's gotten himself into. Did I understand? Yes, in some way, at some level. But, I also believe that we are ultimately responsible for our own actions and therefore must deal with the consequences. Did I love my husband? Unquestionably. But, there was more to it. He had done this to himself. It wasn't just about him being remorseful over Hector, or his time in jail for a murder he didn't commit. It went back years to when Malachi ran the Rez and corruption was rampant. Probably even before that. But, this. Right now. Helping Bear. That was all him. His choice. Therefore, his responsibility. Yes, I understood. But… mad? Yes. I was mad, too. He was right. In the time I'd known him, we'd experience one drama after another. Life was not a soap opera. It shouldn't be this complicated.

I slowed down and stepped off the treadmill, wiping my face with a small towel. Four miles. The last quarter mile had been at a cool-down pace but the rest had been pretty steady. Get rid of those demons! My chest hurt a bit but my lungs were finally strong again. As for the leg and back, they twinge once in a while, usually in damp weather… then again, I _am_ getting older.

Someone once told me that age was a state of mind and spirit. The trick was to convince your body of that. I was working on the convincing part.

Moving to the weight bench, I chose a solid frame barbell and placed it on the bar catcher. What I liked about the solid frames was that you didn't have to fiddle with weight plates. The whole barbell was a set weight. Adjusting my gloves and lying flat on my back, I placed the bottoms of my feet on the end of the bench, knees bent. I was too short to have my feet dangle to the ground; my back would arch. Grabbing hold of the bar, I lifted it from the catcher and started to press. At twenty, I replaced the bar, took a thirty second break, then repeated. I was on my third repetition when a shadow passed at my head. I ignored it, figuring someone was moving to a machine nearby.

"Thirty-five pounds?" came a snort of derision from my left. "And here I thought you were some bad-ass broad."

"Endurance over bulk," I breathed out. "Sustainable development. Going the distance." I took another break and glanced at the intruder. "Seriously? What are you doing here?"

"Malachi wants to talk to you." Darius stood over me looking down.

"How did you know I was here? Cameras at the house again? Tracking device on my car?" I lifted the barbell for the last set.

I heard him huff. "You're not hard to find"

"That wasn't a denial," I grunted. After a handful of presses, I told him, "Grab the bar. You've distracted me."

He reached over and effortlessly lifted it onto the catch.

"Show off." I sat up, wiped my face again. "So, Mr. Strand wants a word with me. Hmmm. No. I don't think so."

"It wasn't a request."

I stood to move on. "Well, I don't take orders from him or from you for that matter." I tried to shoulder past him but he gripped my arm. I stopped, looked down at his hand. "You don't want to do that," I warned.

"Hey. You," the guy at the front counter called. "Julia, want me to call the cops?"

I gave Darius a solid stare. "Does he call the police?"

He huffed again and dropped his hand and his voice. "I think you should come. It has to do with Henry."

"If you haven't noticed, Henry is in jail and it looks like Mathias intends to keep him there for a while. I would think Mr. Strand would be thrilled to have Henry out of his hair."

"Actually, he wants Henry out."

"And, why would he want that? Henry's just a fly in his soup. They really don't like each other."

"He has his reasons. Look, I was told to bring you back to the Red Pony, so let's go." He reached for my elbow to guide me out.

Pulling the towel from my shoulder, I shrugged past. "I have to shower before I go anywhere. If you want to wait, wait. If not, I'll swing by the Red Pony on the way home. If he doesn't like that, too bad."

xxxxxxx

Forty-five minutes later, I was following Darius' brown pick-up into the parking lot of the Red Pony. We parked side-by-side and seemingly in tandem got out, heading for the front door. His legs were longer and reached the entrance first. He held it open and I instinctively thanked him. His look of surprise was quickly caught and sealed, but I saw the flicker. Simple manners had caught him off guard.

"In the office." He gestured, leading the way, opening that door, too. I thanked him again wondering if I'd get the same reaction. I didn't. He had it under control.

"Well, you took your time." Malachi casually sat back in Henry's creaky office chair, fingers laced across his protruding stomach, the sense of ownership exuding in his demeanor. "I figured you'd come running if I said this had to do with Henry."

"You figured wrong." I sat opposite him without an invitation. He was not going to control this. I was. "He's not going anywhere. It's public knowledge what he's done."

"Must be hard. You two just getting married and all. Not the best way to start a new life together."

He was baiting me but I wasn't biting. Control. It was all about control.

"It is what it is," I stated Henry's mantra, smirking slightly at Strand's recognition of the words.

"What would you say if I told you I could get Henry out?" He played his upper hand.

I patiently lace my fingers over my stomach, mimicking Malachi pose. "I would say that you're overestimating your power. And, I would consider that in order to release him, you would jeopardise exposing your involvement over those in the legal system. Is that something you would really be willing to do? For Henry?"

He stiffened at the rebuke but quickly regained composure. I had clearly read him and called his bluff.

"What do you want, Mr. Strand?" I bluntly asked.

"I thought that would be obvious." He leaned forward, arms on the desk, taking on his most formidable pose. "You still hold the key to my business – a USB key – the thumb drive. Assuming you are a woman of your word, it remains the only copy. You obviously haven't gone to the authorities with it or I would have known. I want it. Give it to me today and Henry will be home by tomorrow morning."

"Mr. Strand," I kept my tone cool. "As I've told you before, it's not here. I'd be an idiot to keep it so close."

"Then, get it here. When you hand it over to me, you will have Henry back."

"And, I'm just supposed to trust you. With all that's happened, I find that hard to do."

He spread his hands innocuously. "That is your prerogative. Those are my terms: the thumb drive for Henry's release."

I thought for a moment. It seemed a small price to pay. The FBI was already investigating what I had researched.

"I'll get back to you," I said, rising.

"Don't wait too long." He leaned back again, a king on his throne. "You know how these jails work. It would be a shame if anything happened to Henry while he's in there."

"A threat?" My brows rose and I cocked my head slightly. "If you want that drive, nothing happens to Henry. Are we understood?"

Strand nodded slowly, a malicious glint in his eyes.

After I left, Strand pulled his cell phone from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and dialed. Waiting a moment, he spoke. "We need a little insurance. Pay our friend a visit. Not much. Just a message."

I was at my car before Darius could catch up. I wanted to get out of there before I did something to belie my composure. As I swung the door open, he caught it with his hand and held me in place. His dark eyes bore down.

"Get the drive, Julia. Malachi's not kidding. He has the power to hurt or heal. For Henry's sake, get it."

… _power to hurt or heal_ …? That sounded like a quote from a book, not something a hired thug would say.

"I've warning him not to hurt Henry. If he does, he doesn't get it."

"Doesn't matter. He'll do what he wants. Besides, how would you find out? Malachi's got the jail locked down."

Darius giving me information about Strand? This was an unexpected twist… or a trap.

xxxxxxx

"Did he make the offer?"

"He did. And, he threatened Henry if I don't get it here fast."

"Did you agree?"

"No, I said I'd think about it. If I gave in too quickly, he'd suspect something. I've been holding onto that drive for a long time. I've threatened him with it. It should be tough for me to let go."

There was a pause on the other end. "Henry could still do some good."

"He's been in for over a month. This isn't some kind of movie. The man is a barkeep, not a spy."

"He's a man with enough guts to infiltrate the Brotherhood and get information on Strand's contraband network inside the prison. Convicts. Medical staff. Guards. He's gathered solid intel and we're still investigating a couple more names. Can you hold out?"

I inhaled deeply, slowly. I really wanted Henry home. "Question is, can Henry hold out?"

"I'm sure he can."

"How much longer do you need?"

"Give us until the end of the week, four days, then we'll be in touch again."

"I could tell Strand that the drive is on the way. Hopefully, he takes my word for it."

"You know, Ms. Farine, I've read your file. Impressive on paper but now I see it was warranted. I'm sure you can convince him."

I silently accepted the compliment, not really caring what he thought. "I hope so. How are you going to explain letting out a man who has done what Henry has done?"

"Don't worry. We'll take care of it. A glitch in the court system. Something like that."

"Something that could be explained easily but not put a target on him with the rest of Strand's men or the Brotherhood."

There was silence again. "Look. Give Strand a call in the morning, tell him that the drive is on the way. We'll take care of the rest. This should all be over soon."

"Do I cross my fingers and hold my breath?" I teased glumly.

There was a reluctant chuckle on the other end. "Cross your fingers. Don't hold your breath. You'll turn blue."

He ended the conversation without another word and I sat with the phone to my ear for a moment, dial tone buzzing white noise. He hadn't given an assurance that Henry would come out of this all right. Another trust issue.

xxxxxxx

Henry shuffled along in the food line at the cafeteria. The bruises on his face were beginning to fade but the contusion to the knee still gave him trouble. He still did not know why he had been beaten. Some of the Brotherhood had held back, confused with what was happening. The order seemed to have been directed to a very specific few.

"Standing Bear." Crow quietly approached from behind. "What's Malachi's beef with you?"

"So much, but he owns my business."

"You fighting to get it back?"

"How? I am in here. I have been for two months."

"Your wife? Your lawyer? They doing something to piss Malachi off?"

Henry's heart hit the inside of his rib cage. "I do not believe so. I have not seen them in over a week. Is there something going on? I assumed this," he pointed to his face, "was a message from Malachi but I do not know for what. And, no one has said anything about it." He kept his steady countenance and moved forward.

"Words out to work you over again. Another message. To who? Your wife? Your lawyer? The Sheriff? Why?"

Henry closed his eyes briefly. "I do not know."

xxxxxxx

"Four days. You said four days. That was two weeks ago." All diplomatic training was out the window with my frustration. "I can't get in to see him. I've been there several times and the warden says that he can't come at the moment, for me to come back later. When I do, I'm turned away again. Something is going on and it's not good. Even his lawyer and the Sheriff are having trouble getting in."

"I'm sorry, things got complicated. I can't discuss it. A few more days."

"Then what? We discover he's dead. No worries then. No need to make up a story to get him out." All the cool was gone and I was verging on frantic.

"He's not dead. Our man is making sure he's alright. Been roughed up, though. I couldn't help that and it makes his cover more believable."

"Cover? He's not an agent! He's a regular citizen who deserves protection!"

"He's a vigilante who threatened people and beat them up, passing judgement when they should have gone to the law."

"He did go to the law. So did the victims, but nothing was done. The situations were ignored. That's what justice on the Rez is like. There is none."

"Still…"

"No _still…_ according to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, article 3 states that you have the right to feel safe, article 5 states that you cannot be treated inhumanely, article 6 states that everyone is supposed to be recognized before the law, 7 – equal protection before the law, 8 – right to a trial… I could go on. You don't live there, you can't understand. I don't condone vigilantism, but when the law lets you down, when there is no other recourse but to give up and succumb to being a victim, or stand up and fight, you search for the resources to help you. Hector was a resource. When he was killed – murdered – the void that was left was tangible. Henry filled that void as best as he could. He could never be another Hector but he did his best to protect people the law wouldn't. Not couldn't. Wouldn't. So before you pass judgement, understand the situation. What he is is in his name. A standing bear stands to protect. If that means fight, then he fights. But, he will protect as best as he can. Now, keep your word and get my husband out of jail."


	21. Chapter 21 On Edge

**21 – On Edge**

Snow blustered across the I-25, miniature squalls and gusts blowing the light flakes in circles, gathering them in mounds on either side of the road. My students had laughed when I called it a storm. I guess for the native Wyomingite, it was just a dusting. But, for me, it brought unnerving memories of sliding off the road into a ditch. My colleagues suggested that I stay in Casper another night as they thought it might get worst. I had been lucky with that. The university had offered the same arrangement as when I first began in the Political Science department two years ago. I would drive up on Sunday afternoon, spend the night in off-campus housing specifically for university guests, lecture Monday morning or early afternoon, then drive home afterwards. The position had developed from a once-a-month guest speaker to a once-a-week class on International Policy. But, right now, I couldn't even consider staying. I needed to be as close to home as possible to keep an eye on the Red Pony and Henry's situation. I was worried about him. For the past two weeks, our visits had been blocked. Walt had managed to get in to see him using his badge. Cady had seen him a couple of times: attorney/client privilege. But, me? I was just his wife and easily manipulated. The news they brought back wasn't good. He had been beaten several times. He claimed it wasn't bad but a black eye was a black eye. I hoped he gave it as good as he got. I had gone to Malachi to reiterate my warning about harm coming to my husband and we seemed to be at an impasse. He wanted the thumb drive and I was delaying. I warned him not to hurt Henry or he wouldn't get the drive. It was cyclical. I didn't like this game and wanted it to stop but I was no longer holding the winning hand – neither was Malachi. It was a draw and there were players involved that the other couldn't see.

Another gust struck the side of the car and I jerked to the right, jarring the shoulder of the road, holding the steering wheel tight with both hands to adjust.

"Hold on, Sugar," I called to the back seat. "We're in for a bumpy ride."

Sugar remained in her tight little curl, nose securely buried under her paws and tail, only her ears twitched to register my comment. I smiled at her confidence in me. She wasn't worried.

There were other cars on the road and we all seemed to keep well under the speed limit due to limited visibility. The storm had indeed picked up as we traveled further north and closer to the mountains. As we approached the various exits, they turned off, finally leaving me alone. With no more tracks to follow, I had to plow through single-handedly.

About an hour out of Durant, with my fingers starting to ache from my death grip on the steering wheel, I saw flashing lights on the opposite side of the road. Someone with car trouble. What a terrible day for it to happen. As I approached, I recognized the truck and crossed the highway to come nose to nose with the popped hood. A large, denim-covered butt stuck out. The man's head hidden. He was obviously tinkering with the engine. I got out, the slam of the car door grabbing his attention.

I chuckled at the situation. "Well, isn't this a turn of events? Need a hand?"

He stood to his full height, shifting awkwardly, weighing the wench in his hand, his jaw chewing the words that didn't want to come out.

"I've got it," he replied. "Besides, what'd'you know about engines?"

"Honestly, not much, but I do have triple A or I could be in the driver's seat while you do whatever it is you're doing under there." I waved a gloved finger at the engine block.

He glanced back over his shoulder to the truck weighing his choices. "Key's in the ignition. Turn her over." He turned and stuck his head back under the hood.

I got behind the wheel and had to adjust the seat. It was pushed far back to accommodate the driver but I couldn't reach the pedals. Finally turning the key, I held it. Nothing. I rolled the window down to hear his next instructions, snow blowing into the cab. After a minute, he called to try it again. Nothing.

"Look." I stepped into the cold. "Cell reception is horrible with the storm. Why don't I give you a lift back to town? The temperature is dropping and it's getting dark. Leave the hazard lights on and call a tow truck. They'll come get it."

Ah, that stony expression. Tense jaw. Piercing black eyes. Leaving would mean failure. Could he swallow that?

I walked back to my car. Sugar was now alert and sitting upright in the back seat.

"Get in the car, Burns, or freeze your butt off. I could always go back to town and get help for you."

That did it. He slammed the hood shut, moved to get what he needed out of the cab of the truck, and locked the doors. Folding himself into the front seat of my Ford Escort, I had to chuckle at his predicament. Last year, he had saved me from carbon monoxide poisoning when I skidded Henry's truck off the road in a storm. Now, I was coming to his rescue – albeit not with the same sort of drama – and he was suffering further indignity by stuffing his six-foot- two frame into what he once deemed as a clown car. He had to push the seat all the way back and still didn't have enough room.

"Mind if I ask what you were doing out here? It's nowhere near the casino or the Red Pony."

He was silent, gazing out the window at the canvas of white as I pulled back onto the highway.

"Fine. Don't tell me. Secret Strand business, I suppose."

"You've been gone a couple of days. I went looking for you," he finally relented, eyes remaining turned.

"Really? Doesn't Strand know I lecture at Casper College once a week? Is he that obsessive that he needs to know where I am every minute? I thought you put another GPS on my car."

"No. On many levels."

My brow furrowed at his sullen response.

"Malachi didn't send me. I sent me." He finally turned in his seat. "Malachi has given another order to beat Henry. He may be using you as an excuse but he's enjoying the power." He paused considering his next words and looked back out the window. "The warden is on Malachi's payroll. So is one night guard and two of the day guards, plus a guy in the clerk's office. They'll turn a blind eye."

"That's why I've been denied access to him. Strand is pulling the strings."

Darius nodded.

"How high up does this go? Lawyers? Judges?" I was pressing the issue, wondering how much he would admit to but he shook his head refusing to look at me. It was odd that he had said as much as he did. I let it go figuring I'd pass the information on to Carlyle. "Where do you want to be dropped off?" I asked as we came to the town limits.

"Near Nat's Garage. I'll get a tow truck from there."

As I pulled in front of the garage, Darius swung the door open and unfolded his legs, standing on the snowy sidewalk; he stretched then bent to poke his head back into the car.

"Look, be careful. Malachi's got a long reach. It would be in everyone's best interest to give him what he wants. He'll get it eventually anyway. Save Henry some grief."

I pursed my lips and thought. I couldn't understand Darius' roll in all of this. Exactly who was he working for? Malachi? The FBI? Himself? And, why was he feeding me these bits of information? Not that I minded. They helped. But, I just didn't get it.

He stood again then quickly stuck his head back into the car to further confuse me. "Thanks for the lift," he said before heading to Nat's office door.

xxxxxxx

I curled under the covers, pillows lined beside my body for comfort, listening to the wind pound the side of the house. I never thought I would feel this lonely again. Snuggling into the cold fabric, I draped my arm on over the lump pulling it close, tears beginning to flow. There was a hollow, empty ache deep inside my chest. I missed Henry and that brought on all the others that I missed. Tom. Brook. Chris. Even Kuru. Mama Malala. My husband, Mark. Our daughter, Ali. Years long gone. I knew I was fighting a losing battle and finally let the sobs take over.

Sugar didn't wait for an invitation. She had been curled on the mat beside the bed but leapt up and wiggled between me and the pillows, stretching her full length to come face-to-face with me. She tried to lick my tears away and I got my face washed doggy-style. Slowly, my hand moved to stroke long caresses down her side, head to tail, just like she liked. She understood loss. She understood me. We heaved a sigh together.

Listening to the living room clock tick away the seconds, minutes, in the cold darkness of the house, I realized just how long the nights were becoming, just how lonely they were. Seemingly endless. I closed my eyes. With the absence of sleep, I hoped the morning would come soon to keep me busy again.

The buzz from the night stand jolted both of us. A shrill shock down the spine. My cell phone. I rolled over, grabbed it, straining my eyes to read the caller ID. It was a number I didn't recognize.

"Hello?" my voice cautiously croaked into the receiver.

"Julia. I am sorry for calling so late. I must have woken you."

I bolted upright, alert, my hand still on Sugar's side, my heart pounding in my throat.

"Henry? How?"

"I do not have much time. I needed to hear your voice. Talk to me. Say anything. How are you? How is Sugar? Tell me how things went in Casper. Anything."

His voice was low, almost a whisper, sounding so desperate. My chest squeezed.

"I miss you." It came out as a half sob before I could contain it.

There was silence on the other end before he spoke again. His voice cracked. "I miss you, too. Talk to me."

For five minutes, I filled a void, talking of the house, the snow, the youth group, kids at school, the course in Casper, my latest Skype with Kelly, anything and everything except the Red Pony, Malachi, Darius, prison…

"Now, you talk to me." I longed to hear his voice, too.

"There is little to say except I miss you. I want you to be safe and am thankful that you are okay. Days here are long. I am able to go outside and have pretty much been left alone lately. I have made some friends. For that I am grateful." He was talking like a lonely little boy at summer camp. "You know, I would love to have a cheeseburger and fries." There was a slight laugh in his voice. "Food here leaves much to be desired. They know I have restaurant experience and have offered me a job in the kitchen. Maybe they will let me get creative."

I sucked in my breath. There it was. The message Carlyle had been waiting for. Since Henry's incarceration, he had worked in the library and laundry searching for pieces of Malachi's puzzle. Both were common places for transporting contraband to inmates. But, the kitchen – this seemed to be the hub of the transactions. Malachi's center of operations in the prison. No wonder he had wanted Henry out, had had him beaten. He was afraid he'd end up exactly where he was heading. Having him beaten and bloody guaranteed that he would not be on kitchen duty. Health concerns. Malachi would have a fit the moment he heard. From this vantage point, Henry could quickly identify who was involved and what was being delivered.

He continued. "I regret what I have done, what I have put you through. I am so sorry, Julia." There was the crack in his voice and I could picture him clearly: the strain on his face, his eyes closed as he held the phone to his ear. "I have to go."

"How were you able to call?" I asked desperate to hang on for another minute.

"I cannot say. I love you."

Disappointed, I relented. "I love you, too. Be safe."

There was silence as the line was cut and I held the phone in my lap stroking Sugar's head in the dark. My mind started reeling. This could be it. This could be the end. I could only hope. I lay back staring at the stark white ceiling, knowing that I was beyond sleep.

"Thank you for arranging this." Henry handed the smuggled phone back to his cellmate.

"You really do love her, eh Standing Bear?"

"More that you could imagine." Henry stretched out on his cot and closed his eyes praying for sleep to come fast so the warm sound of her voice would be part of his dreams.

Crow tucked the phone into a hole in his mattress for the next time it was needed then rolled onto his side. He was glad his cell transfer had gone through. He liked Henry. There was something about him. And, he was curious about this _ve'hoe'ame_ of his.


	22. Chapter 22 Secrets and Plans, Plans and

**22 – Secrets and Plans, Plans and Secrets **

The cell phone flew across the casino's security room smashing into the wall and knocking the colourful, abstract painting from its hook sending it crashing to the ground.

 _Idiots_ , he thought. Did he have to do everything himself? What was the warden thinking approving Hank's transfer to the kitchen? Maybe he needed a little more incentive. A reminder who was boss. The man's interest payments on his debt were already quite substantial but maybe it was time to give them another look. Raise them a little higher. Or, maybe Darius should pay him a visit with those nice family photos he recently acquired: the pre-teen daughter with her friends outside Clear Creek Middle School, the wife grocery shopping at Rocky Mountain Fresh Foods or talking with other mothers at the local PTA. _Hmmm_ , Malachi leaned back in his comfortable, leather seat, elbows on the rests, fingers steepled at his malevolently curled lips. _Yes_ , he considered thoughtfully _, that would be a more effective way to go_.

The mob boss rose, took three steps to retrieve his phone from the ground, checked it, then carefully replace the picture to the wall. Jacob was not as easily manipulated as the others and would notice if his employee was acting out again. He hmffed. _Employee. Him_? Malachi didn't like the idea of working for someone else. He was used to being in charge. He smiled spitefully to himself. Maybe one day, this decadent den of hopes and dreams... and profit…would be his. He had already begun his infiltration and Jacob had no idea. But, for now, he must consider the casino owner an ally. The man had as much influence as he did and it would be best to stay in his good graces.

He checked his phone again then dialed. Darius had a job to do.

xxxxxxx

I saw the newly washed, black SUV in the expansive driveway, kept a healthy pace and strode past it to knock on the large, glass door that gave the occupant inside a spectacular view of the snow-dusted prairie.

"Julia." Jacob was surprised as he swung it open. "I didn't hear the car drive up. Come in," he graciously invited stepping back with a hospitable sweep of his hand. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

I kicked the snow from my boots and entered, eyes appreciating the open-concept luxury. It was a beautiful house of polished wood and glass. Massive twenty-foot ceilings. Timber beams. A wonderful combination of sophistication and Native charm.

"I walked over." I smiled to his raised brows.

"Walked? That's quite a hike. Did you come by road or as the crow flies?" He ushered me to a cluster of plush sofas and soft armchairs in the center of the space.

I stooped to take off my boots before traipsing melting snow over his wide, hardwood floors and smiled. Not many people used that term any more: "As the crow flies," referring to the more direct route over the land rather than by a manmade path – the road.

"As the crow flies," I responded draping my coat over the back of a short, camel-colored sofa as I sat facing a wall of glass. "It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining and the terrain was not difficult."

"Cold, though. Can I offer you tea?"

I nodded my thanks as he moved to the spacious kitchen that was adjoined to the sitting area. He pulled a copper kettle from a decorative shelf, filled it with water and placed it on the six-burner gas range with twin ovens. He was such a wealthy man, I wondered if he actually cooked on that marvelous piece of equipment or was it there simply because he could afford it.

With the task done, he joined me, taking a seat on a throne-like, wood-carved armchair, his back to the magnificent view. Sugar unabashedly moved to sit beside him leaning against his leg as his fingers dangled to scratch her head lightly.

There was a moment of peaceful silence before he began. "I heard Henry has been transferred to a job more suited to his skills." I cocked my head. "The kitchen," he clarified.

My eyes narrowed in friendly suspicion. "Did you have something to do with that?" I knew he had been using his own connections to help Henry. It was part of his plan.

"Malachi is not the only one in this county with influence." He smugly laced his fingers on his lap, crossing his legs. "Henry will have to move quickly however, if he is to find what he is looking for before Malachi reaches out again."

"What do you mean; _find what he's looking for_? Who says he's looking for anything?" I tried to maintain the innocent guise.

"Tsk, tsk, now Julia." He gave a wry smile. "I know that you have something Malachi wants yet you are withholding it, keeping your husband in jail longer than necessary." He shook his head slowly, amused. "Either you don't love your husband as much as you claim or there is another reason for the delay. He's looking for something. Maybe evidence of Malachi's enterprise in the prison? Hmmm? He has worked in several different departments. Maybe this one will be lucky."

"Interesting supposition," I considered. "I think you know more than you're letting on. You know, we would be much more productive if we lay all our cards on the table." I leaned forward, a twinkle in my eye.

He laughed. "Apropos analogy for a gaming man."

"Thought you'd like it." I grinned playfully. "So, Mr. Knight Horse, what exactly is your involvement in all of this because it goes deeper than revenge?"

He nodded slowly, studying me. I could almost see the wheels turn in the casino owners head.

"I do not like being played for a fool and I feel that Malachi has done just that. He is using my business for his own personal gain and believes that I do not see. He is risking all that I have built."

I shook my head. "This is old news, Jacob. The plan was a two-way street. Henry was to gather incriminating information on what Malachi was doing at the Red Pony, the loan sharking business, and you were to keep him up to date with his activities at the casino. So far, Henry has provided his information but you have been keeping your end very quiet. And, since Henry's incarceration, I've taken over his responsibility. I still have contacts there and am not run out when I go in. Plus, I'm keeping tabs on Darius when he's not at the casino. You have learned a great deal from us but we have learned little in return from you. What else are you after?"

As much as we were reaching our goal, there was still the issue of trust that lingered on the periphery of my radar and I was beginning to feel like I was the one being played.

"I should think that would be enough. My honor is at stake."

Okay. He had a point. Native honor was of vital significance. But…

I leaned back, my right finger tapping thoughtfully to my lips as I studied him. My eyes narrowed.

"There is something else." I scrutinized him now and he was a tough one to read. The negligible tip on his head. The almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw. The slight flare of his nostrils. There was more to his motives and I knew it. I waited.

The kettle whistled breaking our gaze, drawing his attention. He rose and quickly headed for the stove.

"Will Earl Grey do?"

xxxxxxx

I had it. I almost had it. If that damned kettle hadn't blown, I just might have gotten an answer but he even managed to avoid the question in the ensuing conversation. He was an expert at evasions and re-directing the discussion. He thought I didn't notice but years of dealing with politicians had me attuned to this characteristic.

I trudged across the field, the two mile "as the crow flies" walk between Jacob's home and ours. I was surprised at how close we actually were. It was so much longer via the road. Reaching the highway, I stopped before crossing and watched the approaching white SUV. As it slowed and pulled onto the shoulder, I backed up and waited.

"Mathias," I offered in a way of a simple greeting to his head poking out of the rolled down window.

"Julia," he returned as he swung the door open to step out.

Our relationship had been strained since Henry's arrest. He had been convinced, and rightfully so, that I had kept information from him regarding Henry's extracurricular activities. Admittedly, I hadn't known everything, but I knew, or suspected, enough to have informed the Tribal Police Chief. Now, I was keeping secrets again.

"What are you doing way out here? Isn't it cold for you?" His bare hands were planted on his narrow hips, his jacket unzipped to mid-chest as if to dare me to admit it.

"Just out for a walk." I shaded my eyes with my mittened hand, scarf wrapped warmly around my neck. "It's a beautiful day. What are you up to?"

He looked at the ground, scuffed the toe of his boot in the packed snow on the soft shoulder, then gazed around the landscape avoiding eye contact. "I got a call from someone out on Grey Rock Road." He finally turned my way. "I may have been wrong about some of what Henry did. He's in jail but Hector's followers are still busy. Someone beat up Glen Farnsworth. There's been chatter about him targeting some of the Elders – taking their security checks, stealing anything he could to pawn. With Henry's link to the Elders on the Rez, I figured he'd be the one protecting them, but it's still going on. Do you know anything about it?"

I shook my head. "I had my suspicions that there were others. Heard talk but nothing confirmed. Henry thought so too but never said anything more than that. He was so focused on Gabriel Laughton's situation that everything else fell by the wayside. The other incidences seemed to be … mmmm, handled, by someone else. Though I don't agree with the method, I have to admire that people are looking out for one another."

"Doesn't help me, though. I'm the law. The law should be looking out for these people."

"Yes, but you are only one man and your officers are stretched thin. Besides, how many of them are loyal to Malachi or the Brotherhood? From what I heard, it was tough on the troop when he was arrested. Even you were upset by what happened."

He pursed his lips, gaze drifting again.

"Look, I don't approve of vigilantism," I continued. "And, I don't fully approve of what Henry or these others did or are doing. But, I do understand it. The community has pulled together to look out for each other. That's important." I paused, watching him. "I don't think that they're doing this to undermine you. I think they're doing this to help you. Unless, of course, you think Malachi is trying to destabilize your authority by secretly challenging it? You used to work for him. Now you have his job. Do you think he's the type of person to do something like this? My personal experience with the man… I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."

The police chief sighed heavily and looked into the distance. "I'm surprised I've lasted this long. Anything is possible. But, for now, I have to focus on what is going on right now. I can't have people taking the law into their own hands."

"I understand." I smiled in sympathy. "I'll do my best to keep my eyes and ears open for you. If I hear anything, I'll let you know. But, remember, I'm the _ve'hoe'ame_ around here." I grinned.

He smiled weakly in return, accepting my help, and returned to his Jeep. Before he put it into gear, he stuck his head and elbow out of the window. "Want a lift?"

I looked up at the bright sky, a shiver suddenly taking hold. "You know… yes, I would. Thank you."

I hauled the back door open for Sugar and climbed into the front seat with Mathias.

"It's strange," I began as he pulled back onto the road. "In the summer when the sun is bright, it's hot. When it's overcast, it's cold. In the winter, it's the opposite."

"Ya, ain't life strange," Mathias chuckled.

xxxxxxx

Ground beef sizzled on the grill. Square patties the size of a slice of bread. Heat from the stove and oven pushed the temperature of the kitchen into the high-80s and the cook staff had rolled the tops of their orange jumpsuits to their waists, t-shirts soaked with sweat.

Henry was at the large stainless steel butcher block in the center of the room forming the meat with his hands; one eye keeping watch on the bubbling pot of gravy on the stove, the other on the back door that led to the alley behind the cafeteria. For the past two weeks, since his transfer, he had noticed this area's propensity to be a busy spot.

He scooped another handful of meat onto the metal counter. Finally, he was able to satisfy his craving. For weeks, all he wanted was a cheeseburger with fries and now was doing his damnedest to make it happen. So far, he was pleased with his success. It was not going to be perfect but it would be close. Since his introduction to the kitchen, he had been recognized as a man who knew what he was doing and the guards slowly allowed him some freedom with the food – especially if they got to eat it, too. Tonight's menu was hot ground beef sandwiches with gravy, oven fries and frozen peas, canned peaches for dessert. His stomach grumbled with anticipation.

He turned his head slightly at the sound of the back door opening. A familiar, short, thick-waisted guard struggled through balancing a large, cardboard box in his arms. This was not his first visit. Not his first box. The guard silently nodded to an inmate who quickly moved to relieve him of his burden. The men talked quietly for a moment, shifting to shield the box with their bodies, trying not to draw attention. Henry kept his head down, seemingly focused on his task while covertly watching the exchange from the corner of his eye. This was the third package delivered in those two weeks that didn't have anything to do with what the kitchen needed. Not food. Not supplies. They were not always the same size, but were always delivered and received by the same individuals. Henry had managed to sneak a peek. The first had been cigarettes. The second had been cell phones. Henry needed to find out what was in this box and pass the information along. But, he really hoped it was something more substantial.

"Hey, Standing Bear," a guard at the front of the room called.

Henry's attention was quickly drawn away from the men.

"I think you've made enough."

Henry looked down at the multiple piles of burger patties spread in front of him and smiled sheepishly. "I thought you might like to have seconds tonight. I promise, they will be good."

The guard gave a friendly smile and moved to the pot on the stove, taking a long sniff of the gravy. "Ya, I think you might be right. Smells good. You should'a been put in here from the start. I've been to the Red Pony. I like the place. Too bad you couldn't keep out of trouble."

Henry pressed his lips together, his eyes growing dark. "Yes. Too bad." He began to clean the workspace, moving the rest of the patties to the grill for the fry-cook to prepare.

When he looked back toward the men with the box, he noticed that the guard had left and the inmate had moved the box into the supply room. He could see it alone on a back shelf, hip high. It had to be done quickly. Henry furtively glanced round, then silently slipped into the cold storage. Shifting over his shoulder, he gently slid the box forward, feeling its weight. It was heavier than the others. Clear packing tape sealed the unobtrusive package and Henry peeled it back careful not to tear the cardboard. At the sound of a voice outside the room, he stopped and held his breath. The supervising officer. _Was dinner ready to be served?_ A muffled response had Henry grab a large jar of ketchup from the shelf and keep it within arm's reach. His excuse if he needed one. He unfolded the top of the box to find stacks of vacuum packed, frozen fish filets. He paused, listened again, then lifted the fish, the plastic crackling in the cold. He grinned in relief. Finally.

xxxxxxx

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. So, when do you make our move?"

"Soon."

"What are you waiting for?"

"Another piece of the puzzle."

"More? I think we have enough."

"I don't. There's someone else I need to hear from. We wait. We do this right and we do this once."

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	23. Chapter 23 Redemption

**A/N - Happy Easter. I'm back... for now anyway. I'm off again in another month and as much as I love playing with Henry, I'm going to try to get this finished. I hope you like this installment.**

 **Dani**

 **23- Redemption **

"Standing Bear," the guard called. "Warden wants you."

Henry looked up from the steel butcher block to witness two guards standing just inside the kitchen doorway. He reached back to pull the apron string, untying it. Folding it neatly, he placed it on the cold counter and rose to his full height, holding himself proudly as he reached his hands out to be cuffed. After five months, he knew the routine. Movement from one area of the prison to another required the inmate to be handcuffed, sometimes feet too, and led by a minimum of two guards. As they passed through the cafeteria, a dozen sets of eyes from the Brothers watched the procession.

 _What had he done? What did the warden want? Did they suspect something?_ Henry's mind was reeling.

No one spoke as the crowd stood back to let them pass. They moved through the steel doors, out into the warm sunlight and across the exercise field to the administrative building in silence. Climbing the wide, concrete steps, the guards ushered him into the sparse office to face a portly man with thinning, peppered hair and round, ruddy cheeks. The warden looked up sternly, wordlessly signalled for the guards to leave, then leaned back in his ancient, wooden captain's chair, making it creak, folding his hands across his protruding stomach.

"Sit," he ordered, steely eyes never leaving his quarry.

Henry stepped forward and sat on a small, wooden chair reminiscent of one found in a 1950's schoolroom.

The clock above the door ticked ominously in the silence. Seconds. A minute.

Abruptly, the warden rose and left the room closing the door firmly behind him.

Confused, Henry's heart pounded in his chest. A roar sounded in his ears as panic began to rise. He shook his head to fight off the blackening at the edges of his vision. His breath became short and he struggled to control it. He couldn't panic now. He swallowed it down. _What was_ _Malachi up to?_

After a few minutes, the office door opened again and two new guards entered. He had not seen these men before and their uniforms were a little different. Should he fight or should he cooperate? Who knows what was instore for him? With a silent flip of a hand, the guards ordered him to his feet, shackled his ankles and drew the chain from his feet to the wrists. With a strong hand on his upper arm, he was led out of the room in shuffling steps, back down the stairs and out to a waiting transport van.

The yard was now crowded and Henry could see familiar faced pressed to the chain-link fence sneering, watching, enjoying. He struggled against his captors as they pushed him toward the open rear doors of the van.

"In," he was ordered with a firm shove.

He stumbled, caught his knee against the bumper, and was physically pushed up and into his seat. The guards climbed in behind and the doors were slammed shut. Henry sat with his back to the van wall facing his jailers. When the van rolled down the path to the gates, he could hear the jeers from the other inmates. Then the van idled, muffled voices, the buzz of the gate opening and they continued on their way. Henry could feel the change from the prison concrete to the asphalt road. Left turn. Hum of wheels.

After five minutes of silence, one of the men leaned sideways and pulled a small, black gym bag out from under the bench. The other guard leaned forward to unlock the chains.

"Here. Put these on." The one with the bag growled as he tossed it onto Henry's lap.

Henry took the bag, opened it to find his favorite red flannel shirt, black Levis and leather boots. His brow furrowed.

"Your wife thought you'd like these," the first guard said flatly. "Put them on. Carlyle is waiting for you."

"Carlyle? You work for Carlyle? It is over?"

The men refused to answer and drove the next thirty minutes in silence.

 _Was it true? Was it over? Or was this one of Malachi's mind games?_

He quickly pulled off the orange prison jumpsuit and rolled it into a ball, shoving it into the black bag. He held the flannel shirt to his nose, inhaling deeply. He smiled. Fleecy. Fabric softener. It smelled like home. Slipping his arms into the sleeves, he finished getting dressed and leaned back again. He began to relax and closed his eyes.

When the van finally stopped and the back doors were open, Henry squinted against the bright sunlight.

The guards climbed out first. Henry followed.

Before he could fully straighten and stretch his legs, he was knocked backwards: a force hitting his chest, making him lose balance and ready to fight. It took a moment to regain purchase and untangle himself from the source of his distress.

"I missed you. I missed you. I missed you," I clung to my husband, arms securely wrapped around his neck. Damn it. I was NOT letting go. Not ever again even though I could sense his confusion.

Henry gave up trying to extradite himself from my grip and laughed, returning the bear hug, lifting me from my feet, burying his face in the crook of my neck. He tried to speak but nothing came out.

"You two done?" Agent Carlyle gruffly asked trying to hide his discomfort with our open display. "We have to get off the road."

Henry finally looked up to see that the van had merely pulled onto the shoulder. Carlyle had a run-of-the-mill, four-door, mud brown sedan waiting; his partner in the driver's seat.

Henry turned to one of the guards and held out his hand. "Thank you."

The guard looked at it impassively, nodded curtly, then he and his partner returned to the transport and drove off.

"Come on," Carlyle instructed. "We have work to do."

xxxxxxx

It was dark by the time we reached the FBI's safe house and the choice of place surprised me. It had been a long drive with Henry and me shoulder-to-shoulder in the back seat, hands linked together, and as we pulled in front of the log structure, Henry shook his head.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked Carlyle.

The FBI agent looked back over his shoulder to us. "It's safe and we'd be able to see people coming."

He was right. The building stood alone. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but open, snow-dusted prairie. One road in or out.

The car stopped, the agents got out and opened the back doors for us, and we were quickly ushered up the rough steps. Once inside, we got another surprise.

The smell of French-pressed coffee wafted through the small structure and Walt was pouring himself a cup. When he saw us, he raised the cup and asked, "Want one?"

"That's hardly a welcome home." Cady chided as she moved forward to give her godfather a hug. "I wish I'd known what you were doing." She shook her head at him. "I could have helped."

"I think it's something we all wished we knew," Mathias stated from across the small living room. "Maybe I wouldn't have been so hard on you… maybe," he smirked.

Henry grinned as he took the steaming cup from his best friend, inhaling the luscious sense.

"Make no mistake, I am guilty of a number of things but murder is not among them," Henry admitted as he finally took a sip. "I do not know how much you have been told so I will rely on Agent Carlyle to fill us in."

Carlyle took center stage after declining the coffee, turning a small circle to make sure he addressed everyone. "It's only fair to inform you that you've all been vetted and I've spoken with each of you individually. We want to keep everyone on the same page. What is about to happen will occur in several phases, at several locations, and will involve the arrests of a number of local individuals. It is prudent on our part to enlist the help of local law enforcement. You have proven cooperative in the past and I am confident that this endeavor will be successful."

"I think we can all take a guess on what is going to happen but I think we all need to hear the full plan," Walt voiced with a rare agreement from Mathias.

"I am not at liberty to divulge the details at this point in time. We are still waiting to hear from additional sources. Suffice it to say, things are starting to happen. Mr. Strand's people have become more active and it was necessary to get Henry out of the prison. As far as the prison officials are concerned, he has been transferred to a federal penitentiary in Cheyenne to await his trial in which preliminaries are set to begin at the end of the week. I expect Mr. Strand will hear about this and set his informants into motion to find the exact location and time. This will work in our favor. We have Judge Thornton and Warden Docks in loose custody already and it is in their best interest to cooperate. I expect that Mr. Strand will be in contact with at least one of them and we will be there to hear the conversation. Through this, he can be implicated in additional transgressions." He turned to Henry. "I have not properly thanked you for your help." He reached his hand forward. "It was a great personal risk for you and I regret the treatment that you experienced. We have submitted a formal recommendation to drop your previous charges based on your assistance in this matter and they have been accepted." He nodded to both Mathias and Cady. "As for you," his half-smirk toward me looked more like a wiggle from an itchy nose, "it has been an experience." His smile bloomed unexpectedly as he shook his head. "You are a determined lady… and a creative one. I don't know how you managed to get some of the information you did."

I smiled back. "I have my sources, too."

"Well." He turned around the room again. "The area is secure and we have guards posted around the perimeter. I will return tomorrow. By then, we should be able to put the sting into motion."

xxxxxxx

With the house cleared of its guests, Walt tossed a log onto the fire and pulled a couple of beers from the fridge passing one to his best friend. They hadn't had the opportunity to talk alone and with me in the shower, now was their time.

They raised their tins and clinked them together.

"Thank you for letting us stay here," Henry began.

Walt swallowed a good mouthful and tweaked a smile. " _Mi casa es su casa_. Probably not what you would've wanted your first night out with our wife but we gotta keep you safe."

"We'll have our time." Henry took a deep breath. "I would like to know who all the players are, though. Carlyle will not tell me."

"He's compartmentalizing the information for security purposes. Need to know. You'll know when it's time." He shook his head slowly. "I was really mad at Julia. She had a way of getting you out and wouldn't do it."

"Part of the plan."

"I know that now. Does she really still have that thumb drive?"

"Yes and no." Henry took another sip of beer. "She never had it here."

"Tom?" Walt asked.

Henry shook his head. "No. The woman has more connections that I ever thought. She never told me exactly where it was. Said we were safer that way."

Walt nodded in understanding. "Makes sense. Does Carlyle know what's on it?"

Henry nodded. "He has a copy. That was our leverage. She could have given it over but if she did, Malachi would have found a way to get me out. I needed to be in."

"And this whole Helping Bear thing? Was that part of the plan, too?"

Henry looked away. "No. That was me trying to right a wrong… only to make the wrong even worse." He sighed. "I understand what I did and accept the consequences for my actions. I hope the tribe will forgive me."

Walt snorted lightly. "Forgive you? They'll probably give you a medal… except for Malachi's people. We'd better get all of them with Carlyle's plan. Do you trust him?"

Henry drew his eyes to Walt's. "Oddly enough – yes. I know that I have been used to serve a purpose but we will all benefit in the long run."

Walt tipped the last of his beer from the tin as I emerged from the bathroom in flannel sleep pants and black t-shirt. Rising, he put the tin in the recycle bin and said good-night heading for his own room.

"Did I interrupt?" I curled onto the sofa beside my husband.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and drew me close. "No," he sighed to the top of my head. "You smell incredible." His lips dance at my temple.

I could feel him stir. It had been five months since we'd been together and as much as we both wanted it, now was not the time.

I kissed him gently on the lips and pulled away.

"I didn't use all the hot water." The suggestion was subtle.

He smirked, understanding, and rose.

"Good idea." He walked stiffly into the small bathroom and closed the door.

xxxxxxx

He lay on his back, right arm tucked under his head, staring at the shadows on the bedroom ceiling. The images moved in slow motion: a reflection of his imagination and a jumble of an overloaded mind.

He and Julia had lain face-to-face talking quietly until the house around them creaked with the settling of night. He so badly wanted to make love to her but this had been Cady's bed, and Walt was in the next room. Paper-thin walls. It just did not seem right.

"I can hear you thinking from here," I whispered rolling over into his embrace.

"Sorry to wake you." He pulled me close.

"I wasn't asleep. I can't turn my brain off."

"Me neither." He sighed. "So much to think about." There was a pause. "Darius has given you a lot of information. Do you still think he is working with the FBI? Do you trust him?"

I sighed, fingers unconsciously drawing small circles on his back. "I don't know any more. In some ways, it seems that he has been looking out for you, watching over me, letting me know some of what Malachi is planning. But, on the other hand, he's in so deep, and he does things that I really can't see an FBI agent doing."

"Bottom line… do you trust him?"

"My head wants to say yes but my gut tells me no. So… no, I don't fully trust him."

I could feel Henry slowly nod, his rough cheek against the top of my head. "Your instincts have kept you alive in volatile situations. I would trust them."

He was right. Even if my gut was wrong, I would rather be safe than sorry.

He kissed my forehead and whispered in my ear. "Go to sleep before I take you here and now and wake Walt in the process. It could be embarrassing." He nibbled my ear lobe.

I giggled softly. "Oh, when this is all over," I warned nuzzling the underside of his jaw, "I am going to have you every way possible and a few ways we've never tried before."

I could feel his smile spread on my cheek. "You mean there are a few things we still have not tried?"

The kiss was slow and deep and the sense of anticipation grew.

I groaned and rolled away so he could spoon me from behind. "Go to sleep before I let my defenced down."

He snuggled in and within minutes, there was a light snore at the back of my head.

xxxxxxx

He stood in the corner of the room. Back against the wall. Eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Early morning light began to eek around the curtain and he shifted his weight to the other foot. The sun was rising. Another day. Another chance at redemption.

He watched her silently stretch, rolling onto her back on the narrow mattress, arms above her head, short hair mussed across the white pillow case. What had he put her through? She could have easily packed up and left and no one would blame her. But, she had not only stayed but had fought for him, defended his people, stood her ground. She had dealt with Jacob, Darius and Malachi on her own. She should not have had to. That had been his doing. She was always so cool, so in control, so strong. Yet, his actions had cost her nearly everything. That had to change and that, too, was up to him.

He squeezed his eyes together as his cell phone vibrated against his thigh. Reaching into his pocket of his jeans to silence it further, he gripped the small device and backed out of the room.

"What?" he whispered.

"Are you ready?"

His heart jumped. "Tell me when and where."


	24. Chapter 24 It's All About Trust

**24 – It's All About Trust**

Hooves thundered against the frozen prairie, brittle grass crushed with each heavy step. The black mare was stretched, full stride, her head bobbing with the strength of her gait. It would have been a beautiful sight if not for the task at hand.

It was early. The sun still sat on the horizon glowing crimson and orange. The darkness was slowly losing its battle to the dim light, but for what? _Red skies in morn, cowboys are warned_. Was this an ominous sign of how the day would unfold? Mahoe's warning of bad things to come?

The horse slowed at the creek, was steered east, through the frigid water and up the opposite bank.

The brown gabardine coat with sheep-fleece collar was turned up against the cold, the Cattleman's hat low over the brow. Gloved hands gripped the reins and a silent prayer was issued as the horse faltered on a piece of ice and leapt over the last ridge.

There had been an argument that morning. Low, angry whispers kept hush as not to penetrate the thin walls. Warnings. Compromises. And finally, reluctant concessions.

There had been a phone call and he had been willing to risk everything. What was he thinking?

The horse slowed sensing the brooding mood.

The instructions had been precise. Follow Clear Creek east until it forked with Powder River. Head south to the rapids then east again onto the Reservation. Ride toward the Washna Plains. Easy enough.

Coming through the narrow treeline, a black truck could be seen in the distance parked in the middle of the empty battlefield. Clear sight in all directions. No ambush possible. A lone man in a heavy dark coat stood by the hood patiently waiting.

I adjusted myself in the saddle and checked the Glock in my right pocket.

Trust. There would always be an issue of trust until trust could be proven or earned. And, that had been a task upon itself, and one still in the process.

I could probably use both hands to count how many people I truly trusted and still have fingers left over. And those I trusted completely, without a doubt, could be counted on one hand. I'd be damned if I was going to trust a phone call from a burner phone in the wee hours of morning luring the man I loved to a clandestine meeting the day after he was out of prison. Henry had been insistent on going and reluctant to say who the call was from but eventually conceded, understanding the risk.

I dismounted, swinging the reins over the horse's head, keeping them in my left hand, touching the Glock with my right.

"No trouble…?" the question drifted with the realization that Henry was not under Walt's hat and coat.

"Not at all." I inwardly smirked with satisfaction at his surprised reaction.

xxxxxxx

"Well?"

The simultaneous demand from husband and friend were almost comical as I entered Walt's cabin. With Walt at the kitchen counter and Henry by the fireplace, both men had stop dead in their tracks waiting for an answer.

"Well," I casually slipped the coat from my shoulders and hung it on the hook just inside the door, then joined Henry as he lowered to the sofa. "I think we're okay." I curled my feet under. "He had questions, logical and understandable ones, all of which I answered convincingly without hesitation. Mostly about you." I tipped my head sideways. "How you were doing and why you were permitted to spend the night at Walt's. So, apparently, calls had been made to ascertain your whereabouts once you were in transit. He thinks you're going to Cheyenne today and that last night was our last night together for a long time. He also made a comment about Walt's reaction to the … ahhh, presumed noise we must have made." I smirked at Walt's apparent discomfort as he leaned against the piano.

"And, here I thought we had been quiet." Henry teased shooting his friend a mischievous look.

Walt ignored the jibes. "I'd like to know how he knew you were here." He gestured with his coffee cup.

"You said the phone came from Crow? Your cellmate, right?" I asked.

Henry nodded. "He said to hold onto it, just in case."

I shook my head, annoyed with what could have happened. "Just in case, what? What could he have known? Did he know something about you being released? You said Crow was part of the Brotherhood which means you knew he worked for Malachi. How could you have trusted him? I'd like to know the real reason he gave you the phone. Damn it, Henry, anything could have happened…"

I stopped myself raising my hand to my forehead. We had been through all of it that morning and I didn't want to start the argument again.

"He gave it to me before I went to the kitchen. I do not know why or what he knew… if he knew anything. I took it expecting Malachi to call. To give me a personal warning. And, I am well aware of the potential danger." Henry was growing cross with me. "It was a chance I had to take. Crow may have been with Brotherhood but he intervened a number of times on my behalf. And, I may have done things that would question your faith in me but I am not a fool," he said sternly. "There are pieces to this puzzle that we still do not understand; we are still being kept in the dark on many levels and I do not like being in the dark."

"So, that's it. You trust a known criminal but you don't trust Agent Carlyle. He got you out."

"He also kept me in."

"It was part of the plan and I played a role in keeping you in, too. Do you not trust me?"

Tempers were rising and Walt discretely stepped back into the kitchen to give us what space he could in his small house.

Henry leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands scrubbing his face in frustration.

"So, what is the bottom line?" he finally asked. "What did Jacob want?"

I ran my hand soothingly down his back. "He was surprised that I went in your place. I'd like to know what the connection between Jacob and Crow is." I could feel Henry's back tense again. "He wanted to make sure you were alright and he's after the same thing Carlyle is after – the second ledger. It's the key. The final nail in the coffin. But, it needs to be in Malachi's possession; either in his hand or on his property. He warned that if the FBI finds it in your old office, Malachi can claim it's yours, not his, and that he never knew about it. He's right."

Henry released a heavy sigh and leaned back reaching out his arm and pulling me to his chest. Wrapped in each other, he whispered to the top of my head, "I am sorry. I do trust you."

I shook my head returning his squeeze. "I'm sorry, too."

xxxxxxx

Icy rain drummed Mahoe's ominous message on Walt's wood-shingled roof. Another kettle was boiled – tea or coffee made. No one was eating. I was glad that Yvonne had taken Sugar until this was over. She would have registered the tension in the air as easily as C4 under a car's seat.

We had talked, planned, guessed, waited, and talked some more. By the time Carlyle arrived, it was obvious that we were all on edge.

He relayed that Malachi's scouts had been spotted around Henry's house, Yvonne's, Cady's and several miles down the road by Walt's, near the intersection with the highway. His men were dealing with that situation. But, the message was clear. Malachi knew that Henry was out of prison and he had alerted the Brotherhood. They were searching. Apparently, Darius had even been dispatched to Cheyenne to verify that Henry had made it there as planned.

There was no one at the Red Pony but a few loyal henchmen and a handful of customers.

I smiled at a new opportunity and Carlyle agreed. Carl could check the hidden compartment of the desk drawer with the stipulation that he not contaminate the scene with his own fingerprints. Wear rubber gloves.

By early afternoon, with the cold rain still pelting, we were on the road. It was time to put this plan into action.

xxxxxxx

The casino's bright lights flashed, inviting people in with the shiny promise of good fortune. Crowds clustered at the entrance as valets ran to attend the cars. We drove past.

"Nothing like entering the lion's den. Are you sure about this?" I questioned the agent's motives.

"I'm sure." He tapped his partner on the shoulder and pointed, the car turning right at the next building, entering the vacant loading area.

A man in a sanitation uniform sat under a ledge smoking a cigarette by the heavy door near the platform. As we approach, he rose, opened the door leaving it ajar as he re-entered.

"We have to be quick," Carlyle spoke to us over the front seat. "Ready?" he spoke into a small microphone at his collar.

As the car slowly eased up to the platform and briefly stopped, we quickly opened the right side doors, jumping out, ducking inside, furtively avoiding the security camera. Once inside, we were ushered through an empty hallway and into the service elevator to the top floor. Within four minutes, we were secreted into a suit lined with computer monitors, communications devices and men.

The Command Center.

In Jacob's casino.

How could they have done this under Malachi's nose?

"What's the news?" Carlyle asked as we entered. A young agent sat in front of array of large screens showing every conceivable area of the casino from the loading dock to the gaming floors, corridors and elevators to the wide front entrance.

He leaned back, left elbow hooking over the arm of the chair, his index finger pointing to the monitor on the far right. It showed Malachi in the security room of the casino, watching his own set of screens.

"Strand just got a phone call he wasn't too happy about. We're tapped in on his line. His men were picked up out by the Sheriff's house by Durant local police. They've been returned to Reservation and are being held there by the Native Police Chief."

Carlyle nodded. "Any news from Burns?"

"No. Still no word. He left early enough this morning. Should be in Cheyenne by now but there's been nothing yet."

Carlyle turned to us. "With Burns out of the way, Strand will have to go for the book himself. And now that we know it's still at the Red Pony, the arrest can be made there. No fuss. No muss. This place would be protected from the fallout and potential bad press and yours will make a statement that it's being cleaned up."

I was surprised to find him concerned with either establishment's reputation.

"Does that mean Darius is one of yours?" Henry dared to ask.

"One of my what?" Carlyle faced him squarely.

"One of you. FBI. Is he undercover?"

Carlyle shook his head turning away. "You focus on what you need to do. We'll focus on what we need to do."

Henry frowned at the non-answer.

"Are you ready?" Carlyle asked turning to him again. "We've got a guy in the next room ready to suit you up."

"Oh, I am definitely ready." Henry's mood quickly changed and he beamed with excitement.

xxxxxxx

I stayed in the Command Center watching Henry go down the elevator. One of the FBI agents had created a light disguise. Henry's hair had been trimmed and pulled back, a thin mustache added. He wore a non-descript baseball cap, black and white team jacket, and wire rim glasses. He looked like Henry … but not. Enough of a disguise to make Malachi look twice… maybe even get nervous.

"Okay people," Carlyle calmly spoke into his microphone, "Let's get this show on the road."

With that, Henry exited the elevator and moved into the expansive, busy, noisy concourse of the casino. He looked directly up into the domed security camera just briefly with a hint of a smile. He adjusted his baseball cap and glasses, and moved on. I smirked and glanced at the monitor containing Malachi. Had he seen? It didn't seem so.

Henry wandered seemingly aimlessly at first but within ten minutes positioned himself at the quarter slots. Balancing on a short stool, he put a coin in, pulled the handle, and waited as the wheels spun. He casually stopped a waitress, ordered a drink, played a couple more rounds, one of which he won a few dollars, then looked up at the camera, hint of a smile, and moved on.

He strolled through the casino's game room methodically, stopping now and again to watch a game or glance at the camera, careful to keep an eye over his shoulder in case someone else might recognize him. An hour later, he made his final, most obvious move. Henry stopped at the roulette wheel. As he took position, he briefly looked up again.

Malachi was scanning his monitors, stopped for a moment, then focused in on the gaming table.

"That's it…" the young agent whispered as he anxiously leaned toward his screen watching the mob boss. "I think he's taking the bait," he called over his shoulder to Carlyle.

"Keep your head down and your wits up, Standing Bear. We think he's seen you. Rover One. Keep an eye on the line. The fish might be biting." Carlyle spoke to a covert agent on the floor.

Henry called Red 7, put a five dollar chip down and steadily raised his face to the camera. A flat out – here I am. Red – Indian, 7 – the number of years Malachi had been police chief on the Rez, five – the number of months Henry had been in prison.

It took a moment, then…

"That's it," the young agent sat back abruptly clapping his hands together satisfactorily and pointed at the screen. Strand had leaned forward in his seat staring, the air practically cracked with tension.

"You got his attention, Standing Bear." Carlyle kept his voice steady. "Now, let's make him sweat."

He hit speed dial on a cell phone and handed it to me. "You're on Ms. Farine."

We watched as Strand fumbled with the inside breast pocket his suit jacket to retrieve his ringing phone. He looked at the call display, puzzle etched on his face. My name had appeared.

"Is there something you want, Mrs. Standing Bear?" His voice dripped with derision. His eyes scanned the screens looking for Henry who had now moved out of view.

"Isn't it enough that my husband is going to jail for trying to protect the people?" I began my tirade. "Why is your henchman, Burns, still following us?"

His lips twisted upward slightly, pleased that I had noticed. "What do you mean?" he said innocently. "You might be gone but I just saw Henry here. What kind of game area you two playing? It's curious though that he's out and roaming around under my nose. Must be nice having Longfinger as a friend."

"What?" I scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Henry is in Cheyenne sitting in a four-by-six cell waiting for his trial to begin tomorrow. I saw him this morning. You got what you wanted, Mr. Strand. Why do you continue to taunt us?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. He's here." His last words were a muffled whisper as he began to scan the security cameras again.

There was a pause as I measured my words. "Mr. Strand. That's impossible. If you don't believe me, call Darius. He'll confirm where Henry is. I saw him sitting in that brown pick-up of his as I left the county jail this morning. And right now, I'm watching him from the lobby of the Rodeway Inn off Walker Street in Cheyenne. He's parked in the lot and standing outside his truck, leaning against the hood, watching the hotel. Shall I tell you what he's wearing?" I was emphatic but paused again, waiting, wondering if he'd take the bait. I pushed it further. "Well, I'll be dammed." I quietly spoke as if watching a scene outside the hotel window and chuckled lightly. "Mr. Strand… I think you have a problem. The police just showed up. They're talking to Darius. Looks they've got questions. Oh…no…" I slowly added. "This can't be good. Um, Mr. Strand, it looks like your foot soldier is being arrested." I laughed out loud. "Ain't Karma a bitch! I don't know what he's done or who called him in but they took some kind of book from him, a black and white thing, and he's in cuffs. They're taking him away."

Malachi was rapidly scanning the screens. "You're bluffing. I'm sure I saw Henry here." He spoke the last part as if he were talking to himself.

"No, Mr. Strand. Henry is not there. Maybe it's just your guilty conscience making you see things, but I can guarantee, Darius Burns won't be following us anymore."

As soon as we hung up, Strand was redialing his phone. It rang and immediately went to voice mail. Darius was not answering. Had he really been arrested? Strand's large shoulders began to rise and fall rapidly and he fidgeted at the console.

"Good afternoon, Malachi."

Strand had not heard the door behind him open and he jumped a foot in the air.

"Jacob, what brings you here?"

"It's my casino. I have a right to check on things from time to time. I was on the floor a while ago and overheard someone say they needed to speak with Darius. Is he around?"

"No. I sent him on an errand. He should be back by this evening," Malachi calmly lied.

Jacob nodded acceptance and turned to the door. Pausing, he turned back thoughtfully. "You know, when I was down there, I thought I saw Henry. Interesting. I know it couldn't be him. I heard his trial begins tomorrow. Cady has gone to Cheyenne to represent him." Jacob smiled with a shrug. "You know what they say, everyone has a double somewhere." With that, he left the room.

Malachi flopped back in his chair, fingers worrying his lips, staring at the screens. Picking up his walkie talkie, he called two of his men on the floor to keep their eyes open.

"Did I miss anything?" Henry entered the Command Center.

I grinned at him. "Strand's got an itch he can't scratch."

We settled in to watch.

In the following hour, Strand tried several times to call Darius with no luck. Finally, with his last attempt, Agent Carlyle answered the re-routed line.

"Wyoming State Police…"

Carlyle never got the rest of his tagline out. Strand abruptly hung up and we could see the pressure rise in his body even though the screen. It virtually pushed him out of his seat and toward the door.

"Gee, I wonder where he's going," I comically asked.

"Rover three. He's coming your way." Carlyle said into his mic as we watched Strand head down the elegant stairs toward the lobby. He stopped to speak with one of his men, then headed for the glass front doors. "Let the hounds loose. Rabbit's on the run," Carlyle ordered.

I pressed my lips together supressing the smile at the metaphor.

"You guys really talk like that?" Henry asked.

Carlyle gave us a rare smirk. "Only when it fits."

xxxxxxx

As much as we wanted to be at the Red Pony for the final takedown, Henry and I had to remain in the Command Center. The ruse of the trial is what kept Henry safe from the potential fallout from the Brotherhood. But, we had a front row seat to the five synchronized attacks. We sat on the edge of our seats with the young agent watching the array of monitors. The buzz and confusion of mingled voices over the speakers was like white noise until Carlyle's voice broke clearly through silencing the others.

"Everyone in position?" he asked and the string of acknowledgements began from the casino floor to Brotherhood hangout on the Rez to Malachi's home, an associate's place and the Red Pony.

"Rover four. Ready."

"Rover six. Ready."

"Rover five. Ready."

"Yup. I'm here."

"We're ready, too."

We had to smile at Walt and Mathias' replies. Mathias was set up to raid the Brotherhood house on the Rez while Walt with Agent Carlyle were at the Red Pony. Walt couldn't pass on the opportunity to arrest Malachi again.

"Popcorn anyone?" I gleefully asked.

Henry smiled but continued to stare at the screen. He really wanted to be a part of this.

The command was given and through the FBI's surveillance cameras, we witnessed the coordinated movements of the agents. Focusing on Malachi as he entered the Red Pony, we watched as he stormed past Jesse at the bar and into the office slamming the door. A second camera picked him up as he opened the desk drawer to retrieve a plain, black and white composition book – the second ledger. He held it for a moment, satisfied that it was still there then returned it to the drawer.

On his way out, he was met by three armed FBI agents, guns drawn, and Walt, ready to put the cuffs back on.

No fuss. No muss. Six Brothers were also arrested at the Red Pony, and we watched as Carl came out of the kitchen to survey the scene, drying towel over his shoulder. He looked pretty pleased.

"Did I miss it?"

We hadn't heard the suite door open but recognized the voice.

"I am afraid so," Henry calmly turned then rose to greet the man. He extended his hand and they shook. "So, you were the inside man."

"This has been a long time coming and I did what I had to do. But, knowledge of my involvement goes no further." He shook a finger. "Could you imagine Walt's face if he knew? It would destroy the man. He wouldn't have anyone to hate anymore," Jacob chuckled.

"Did you know?" Henry turned to me.

I shook my head. "We had to trust someone."


	25. Chapter 25 - Epilogue

**25 – Epilogue**

Two months, fourteen days.

Thirty-six initial arrests. Sixteen awaiting trial. From the lowliest courier to enforcers, to several prison workers – including two guards, a deputy under Mathias' jurisdiction, two lawyers and at least one judge.

Malachi Strand would be going nowhere for a long time. His operation was shattered: his people scrambling to make deals to save their own skins.

Where was Brotherhood loyalty now?

It took those two months and fourteen days, a lot of legwork from Cady, and agreements with Agent Carlyle, the FBI and the courts, for the Red Pony to finally, legally, be returned to Henry's capable hands. Then, another two full weeks to purge the place of the negative energy left by his nemesis. Smudge sticks had burned in every corner of the restaurant, bar, kitchen, office… even the restrooms. Every inch of the place – counters, tables, even the bottles on the shelves and heads on the walls had been stripped down and scrubbed to a new kind of shine.

He was back. It was his. And, he would never, never let it go again.

The lights on the jukebox on the far wall flashed a steady rhythm as _My Kind of Crazy_ by Brooks and Dunn blasted out. And, we danced like we had never danced before – laughing and fighting to breathe, clearing the floor to cheers and clapping.

All our friends were there to celebrate: Walt and Cady, Yvonne and Lester, Samantha and Ethan, Anita and members of the Tribal Council. Even Mathias joined the crowd.

Henry was happy again. Relieved. Relaxed. At peace with himself and with what had transpired.

It was good to see.

The people had forgiven the deception of Helping Bear, understanding what had driven him to take such risks. Though, he had to confess that not all of the deeds done had been committed by him. Others had been secretly watching over the population, taking care of each other. A new trend. One that pleased him as much as the absolution.

We spun off the dance floor and I collapsed into a hard, wooden seat, grinning, holding Henry's hand as he leaned forward for a kiss.

"This is good," I purred, cupping his chin, stroking my thumb across his smooth cheek, happiness filling me from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

He took my hand, pressing a kiss into the palm. "Yes, it is. Too bad our other friends could not be here," he spoke softly, noses almost touching.

He referred to Agent Carlyle, and especially Jacob.

We held Jacob's secret as promised. His involvement in the whole matter had been downplayed to the role that he had originally concocted and brought to Henry. A plan, we later discovered, that had been a part of the bigger scheme set by the FBI. Protect the casino and get the Red Pony out of Malachi's hands was the official explanation for the partnership. It had been brilliantly orchestrated and played out. What an actor!

In the aftermath, the animosity between Walt and Jacob had diminished. Not too much, though. Their past was deep and dark and steeped with mistrust and suspicion. Too much had happened over the years for it to ever be completely gone. Henry and I had secretly smirked – _you can't like everyone_.

As for Agent Carlyle, he had created a story that would sanction Henry's transition back in to the community without causing undue suspicion or generating repercussions from anyone left from the Brotherhood. He had stood by us when Henry testified at Malachi's arraignment. Henry had to explain the circumstances regarding the seizure of the bar by Malachi and what he had seen while still employed there. Then, we both took the stand regarding the personal surveillance and harassment. Carlyle had managed to keep Henry out of further allegations citing safety issues and he promised to keep us up-to-date as the process continued. E-mail was best for after the initial statements, we would not see him again.

Darius had disappeared and we never did find out if he was working for the FBI. Carlyle had categorically denied it… but I still had my doubts. Henry was convinced that the man simply had a crush on me and that was the reason for his continual support and protection… but… I still had my doubts…

Walt had to testify against Malachi as well and, although he retained his stoic demeanor, we knew his hidden delight in nailing Malachi to the wall. This time it would stick. There would be no wiggling out of it. The case was tight.

We would have loved to watch the whole affair unfold but that would take months and we knew it wasn't good for our souls. We needed to move on, to get back to normal, whatever "normal" was.

"So, what's going to happen now?" Kelly lowered herself into the chair beside me as Henry met Tom at the bar.

I sighed and put my hand over my friend's. "We put the pieces back together. If Henry had his way, he would jump right into everything as if nothing happened."

Kelly slowly shook her head. "He needs to take it slow."

I nodded my agreement. "It's been weeks and he still has trouble going into the office. We lived, for a long time, with the thought of being watched. When we cleaned this place up, he searched every possible hiding spot for hidden cameras and microphones."

"Did he find any?" Kelly gasped in shocked sympathy.

I pressed my lips together. "Yes. Three. Two were still active. I wonder where they were transmitting to. There's none in the house," I reassured to her concerned look. The FBI had been in and thoroughly checked the house and grounds. Only two were found outside, one in my camper. None were active.

By midnight, the crowd had thinned to a handful of our closest friends and we moved to the back deck. Lester had gone back to the house to bring Sugar to join us and she was curled by my side, head on my foot, snoring lightly.

Carl joined us with a heaping plate of nachos followed by Jesse with a fresh tray of drinks. Chairs were pulled out, feet kicked up as the music filtered into the clear night. The stars glittered hope.

Tom took off his jacket and put it around Kelly's shoulders as she rubbed the bulge of her belly.

I smiled to myself. They'd known each other less than a year yet seemed to have known each other a lifetime. Now, parenthood was upon them. The wedding would follow. _Half-assed backward,_ as Tom had joked. Didn't matter. Good for them. They were good for each other.

Walt tipped the last of his beer from the tin and gazed at his daughter. Pride shone in his eyes. She had fought hard for her godfather… twice… and had won both times. And, she was following her heart, her passion. Okay. So, she was now working on the Rez at a legal clinic backed by Jacob Nighthorse. The man was a puzzle. He supported Cady's endeavor even with the conflict between him and Walt. Walt watched his daughter laugh. Maybe Jacob wasn't that bad after all.

"So," Carl popped the cap off his beer. "Now, what are we going to do around here for excitement?"

The laughter filled the night and I looked at the group of smiling faces.

Three years ago, I was a broken, lonely woman. I had lost everything that I had ever cared about.

After surviving a horror and proving doctors wrong, I stuck seven pins in a map embarking on an adventure of self-discovery… and found this.

Another family. People who cared, who laughed, cried, shared… and just… were there when you needed them.

I gazed lovingly at the man sitting across from me. Dark hair falling into dark eyes. Bright, laughing smile lit with hope and a promise for a better future. The man who had filled my spirit with a new kind of living. The man I had fallen in love with.

I was no longer broken. No longer lost. I was home.

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A/N - I have gone as far as I can go. And as much as I love playing with Henry and Julia, their story must come to an end.

It has been an interesting ride.

Thanks to those who wrote and commented. I once said that I don't write for the comments, I write because I like too, but, you know... it's always nice to be appreciated. So, thank you again.

Dani


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